


The Celestial Evolution of Dean Winchester

by a_frayed_edge



Category: Charmed, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_frayed_edge/pseuds/a_frayed_edge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a vengeful witch turns Dean into an angel, he, Sam, and Cas have to race the clock to get him turned back before his Grace explodes his fragile human body.  Luckily, Cas has a history with the three most powerful good witches of all time, and they might be willing to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Though Charmed ended without Phoebe getting her empathy power back, it's mentioned in the comics that she eventually did, and since that was always my favorite of her powers, I decided to include it. Also, special thanks to liliaeth on livejournal for the art for my fic. I couldn't have asked for a better artist, with a better handle on exactly what I needed.

The moment her eyes snap open, she knows something is very wrong.  It's been a long time since that feeling of utter _fear_ settled so heavily in her stomach, and she has to take several deep breaths to calm her racing heart.  The darkness of the room surrounds her menacingly, so she blinks and, as her eyes begin to adjust, she steals a quick glance at her husband.  He hasn't moved an inch, but that's not surprising. He's not an empath, he's not psychic, and the only thing he would be likely to sense in the air is love.  She knows what he would say about not waking him, but, regardless, she silently slips out of bed and makes her way to the living room.

She switches on a lamp, and the light that floods the room eases her panic, lets her think clearly.  She settles onto the large, red couch, takes a deep and careful breath, and finally she returns her thoughts to her dream.

Nightmare, more like.

There were two men, she thinks, though their names escape her  They were standing in the attic at the manor, and she had been flipping through the Book, frantically looking up . . . angels, maybe?  It's hard to be sure, and she can't pretend that the elusiveness of the details doesn't make her nervous.  When she first got her powers the quick flashes of the future had been nearly impossible to decipher, but that was years ago.  She can't remember the last time a premonition left her feeling so lost.

She can hear the voices of the men, her own mixed in, but she's not sure who's saying what.

_"There's nothing here."_

_"There has to be, dammit!  We are not just going to stand around with blank stares on our faces while my best friend is laying on the couch downstairs, dead.  It's not happening."_

_"We're going to fix this."_

_"Look-"_

_"No, dude.  Forget it.  He tried to kill Cas-"_ Cas? _"And that ends talks."_

_"We're talking about-"_

And the speaker said a name, she's sure of it, but it's as though someone hit the mute button because the rest of the argument is lost.

She fights a moan of frustration and drops her head into her hands.  It's not as though her powers have never run dry before, but the reason behind it has never been good.  Being one of the four most powerful witches of all time means that it takes something with pretty significant power to short-circuit her own, and a premonition coming to her in a dream?  It's been years since it reached her that way.

Her eyes move to the clock and she sighs.  It's just after four in the morning, but ever since their big battle with Billie and Christy so long ago, she and her sisters agreed that living apart couldn't mean living completely separate lives.  Their airtight sisterhood is what makes them unique; it's what made them Charmed to begin with.  So she doesn't hesitate before reaching for the phone and dialing a number she's known her whole life.

It rings several times, but she waits patiently until a soft, familiar voice comes over the line.  There's no greeting.

"What's wrong?"

She forces a laugh she doesn't feel.  A small part of her wants to make this moment of peace last as long as possible, and once she says the words, it'll be over.  "What makes you think anything's wrong," she hedges.

She hears the creak of a bed, and the quiet murmur of another, a _male_ , voice, and is struck again by how lucky she and her sisters have gotten with their husbands.  A fallen angel, a cupid, and a human with an open mind.  Men they can let into their world, that _understand_ in a way so many men before them could not.  She thinks of a lost inspector, a boy next door, and a beautiful newspaper owner.  This job, she knows, will never get easier.

"Well, there's the fact that I've known you for over thirty years," comes the slow, sarcastic reply.  "And, also, the fact that since Pepper started sleeping through the night, there's only one thing that would make you call me so late."

She sighs, façade falling away.  "I had a premonition," she says.  "Sort of."

It's a statement to how far they've come that Piper doesn't argue, or complain about the late hour.  Instead, Phoebe listens to her relate the information to Leo, and then turn on her bedside lamp.  "You don't sound very sure of yourself."

"That's part of the problem.  I think something is interfering with my reception."

"A demon?"

"That would my guess," she agrees.  "A powerful one, too, because I'm telling you, I was supposed to receive this premonition.  I think that may be why it came in the form of a dream.  Something tried to keep it from coming through, so it came the only route available.  And even then . . ."  Her voice trails away as the memory of the unchecked _fear_ that had ran her blood cold washes over her.  "Piper, I'm kind of worried.  There's something really, really wrong here.  I can feel it."

There's a moment of silence as Piper processes her words, and when she speaks again, there's a note of determination in her voice that has always managed to soothe Phoebe's nerves.  Big Sister Mode at its finest.  "I'll call Paige."

"I'll call Billie," Phoebe volunteers.  "And I'll meet you back at the manor in an hour or so.  I still gotta wake Coop and fill him in.  He'll need to watch the girls while we get this settled."  She thinks of her three daughters, sleeping soundly in their beds and crib, and her heart tugs.  She starts to hang up, but her sister's voice comes back over the line.

"Hey, did you happen to notice any details?  Like when this thing might take place?"

Phoebe closes her eyes, and once again summons the memory of the premonition.  "Tomorrow," she answers after a beat.  Goosebumps trail up her arms.  "I think the premonition will come true tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Dean decides he's not all that surprised.

It's been, and this should have been his first clue, relatively quiet for days. They've been driving west, the consensus being that it _could_ be a spirit haunting Diane Johnson in Bakersfield, California.  (Though he didn't miss Castiel's large eye-roll when Sam related the evidence: objects not being where she left them, and a slight chill.  In the basement.  She thinks.)  The weather has been nice since they crossed into Nevada several hours back, and he's stumbled on a radio station doing a tribute to Zeppelin, so he's in an unnaturally good mood.  So much so that Cas' cross examination as to the validity of titling Led Zeppelin "One of the Best Bands Ever, and that's not an exaggeration" isn't coming off quite as offensive as it normally would.

"They seem to have a lot of problems, however."

"Not everyone leads the carefree existence that we do, Cas."  Cas' lips quirk up, and his eyes move to meet Dean's in the rear view mirror.  He's been smiling more since his fall from heaven, Dean's noticed, though sorting out his opinions about things - other than food - is taking time.  Which is one of the reasons Dean thinks that it's important that he make his arguments now, before Sam shoves his iPod on Cas and the former-angel ends up rocking out to Justin Bieber or something else equally horrifying.  "But do you see what I mean?  They're a classic."  And truly, he can't bestow higher praise than that.

"I understand," Cas says, very seriously.  "They're to be respected because they've been around so long."  He pauses.  "Though, of course, I've been around longer than English has been a language, and I cannot be trusted to pump gasoline into an automobile, but obviously that is quite different."

Sam snorts and Dean frowns.  "Glad to see you're getting a better handle on sarcasm."

"Your brother has been helping me."

He shifts his glare to Sam, who shrugs innocently,  "I thought we were teaching him to blend."

Dean doesn't reply, but thirty minutes later, when they stop for dinner, he chooses the dingiest, most run-down diner he can find, and shamelessly hopes they don't serve salads.

They do, but they're out of lettuce, which is ten times better.

"Out of lettuce," Sam repeats blankly to their server, once Dean and Cas have ordered identical bacon cheeseburgers.  No tomato.  "How . . ."  His voice trails away as he refocuses on the menu, and Dean turns his attention to the other patrons.

There's a couple sitting in the corner, a cute redhead, and a dude that looks like a cautionary ad for spay tan.  They're not speaking, but grinning in that way that people do in the beginning of a relationship, and when he leans forward to murmur something low, she lets out a giggle that just has to be rehearsed, no one sounds like that in real life.  He does a mental impression of Cas' earlier eye-roll, and shifts his gaze.

Sitting directly behind Sam and Cas is a table consisting of a couple in their mid-forties, and a ten year old kid that he assumes must be their son.  He's playing on one of those handheld game system things and doesn't look up, not even when his mother asks him, for the second time, what he wants to eat.  Dean's not hugely surprised when she gives an embarrassed half-shrug, and orders him the chicken tender basket.

The waitress drifts away, and the husband, casting a quick glance at the kid (who, frankly, could not look less interested in his parents' conversation), raises an eyebrow at his wife.  "That weather was something else," he says, his tone heavy with significance.

"You're telling me," she agrees.  Her eyes flip to her son too, and her voice lowers slightly.  Luckily, Dean's always had abnormally good hearing.  "We both know I'm not a huge believer in that supernatural stuff, but I've never seen lightening like that.  Over just one house, and I'm sorry, but that shade of blue wasn't normal either."  She gives a resigned sigh.  "Those people are going to Hell."

For a moment he's filled with indecision.  After all, technically they're on their way to a previously agreed-upon hunt, but on the other hand, bright blue lightening over some farm house in the rural corners of Las Vegas, Nevada is sounding pretty intriguing when you compare it against a possibly chilly basement.  He flicks his eyes to Sam and Cas, and to his relief, their expressions mirror his own interest.  He raises his eyebrows at his brother, who leans ever-so-slightly back against the seat and cocks his head to listen.

Unfortunately, it's at that exact moment that the couple seems to grow bored with their discussion of magic and witches and souls burning in eternal damnation, if the wife's next comment of, "We need to go by the grocery store on the way home," is anything to go by.

Cas is on his feet before Dean realizes what's happening, and approaches the family with easy confidence.  Dean's impressed.

"Excuse me for interrupting," he begins, in that gravelly voice that's been known to terrify demons, and even the occasional badass-est of the badass hunters.  (By which Dean means, of course, himself.)  Cas is suddenly standing right beside the husband, and it's just yet another example of how the depletion of his angel juice hasn't left Cas totally bereft of his trademark creepiness.  Frankly, Dean's a little relieved each time he sees it back in action - Fallen Cas will probably always remind him of the Broken Cas he met in 2014.  "I . . ." Cas' voice trails away, and Dean knows that he's silently trying to find a socially acceptable way of saying _was listening to your private conversation about the supernatural_.  " . . . couldn't help but overhear," is what he settles on.  He then gestures to Sam and Dean.  "My comrades and I are in the area investigating the strange weather patterns and your comment about the lightening caught my ear."  It's a convincing lie, rather smoother than he ever could have managed when he first fell all those months ago, and Dean feels a swell of pride.  Sam may be teaching him sarcasm, but Dean knows that this is something Cas is learning from him.

The man looks surprised, but not particularly angry.  "Uh, okay," he says uncertainly.  "What can we do for you?"

"I hoped you could perhaps tell us where we can find this house you mentioned before?"

The pair share an uneasy look before the woman speaks.  "I'm not sure that's -"

"Please," Sam adds, and he's busting out with the poor-puppy-dog eye thing he does, and Dean knows it's all over.

The husband sighs and shrugs.  "Sure, it's really easy.  It's only about a five minute drive."

 

They pull up to the farmhouse just as the sun is beginning its slow decline, and Castiel can immediately tell that they're in the right place.  There's just the right amount of . . . foreboding here - of heavy, palpable evil.  He can't help the step he takes that puts him between his friends and the building and pretends not to notice the annoyed frown Dean doesn't bother to hide.  Years fighting together and still he and Dean are having this argument: Who is more willing to die for the people they love?  Sam hangs behind, knowing better than to throw a third hat into the ring.

This evening, however, Dean begrudgingly allows Cas to take point, though the half-step difference between the two speaks volumes as to how pleased he is with this arrangement.  Cas would smile if he didn't think Dean would find offense.

Without a word, the three approach the front door, and Cas notes the peeling green paint, the rusted doorknob. This is not a place that has been cared for, though he supposes the manifestation of the dark magic could just as easily be the cause. He's never had much patience for witches; as often as not, the culprits are ignorant youths wielding power they don't understand in the name of the hope of a date with a pretty neighbor, and when you've seen the scope of damage evil magic can do - namely ending the whole world - fools are difficult to suffer. But as he turns the knob, and enters a large living room completely devoid of furniture and lays eyes on the blonde witch kneeling on the floor with a Book of Shadows flipped open in front of her, he realizes this isn't the work of an amateur.

He immediately turns to Dean, a warning rising to his lips, but before he can utter one word the witch's eyes find them.

"Castiel," she says, getting to her feet.  There is no surprise in her expression and he feels the beginnings of fear curl in the pit of his stomach. There's heavy magic in the air here; so thick that it stifles his breathing.  They are not prepared for a battle with a being this powerful, and instinct tells him they need to get out of there as quickly as possible, but he remains rooted to the spot, as though he were still an angel and surrounded by holy fire.  "You finally made it.  Those mobility spells have been hanging around in here forever. I have better things to do than wait on a couple of hunters and a former angel to drive through town."

"I cannot move," Cas murmurs to Dean, who shoots him a look that plainly says _Yeah, me neither._ Give or take an expletive.

"How are you doing this," Sam demands.  It is a fair question.  Only once in Castiel' long existence has he ever encountered witchcraft powerful enough to crackle through the air like barely-contained energy.  "There's no alter, no bowl of blood-"

She rolls her eyes, taking slow steps towards Dean.  Cas stiffens.  "I don't need some silly demon's interference," she answers, almost lazily.   "My power is my own."  Though there's something in her tone, something in her expression, that makes Cas examine her a little more closely, and that's when he catches it.  The smoldering, burning fury she's hiding everywhere but in her eyes.

Castiel has been a solider for a long time - longer than time itself - and he knows enough to keep her talking. "You lured us here.  You sent that family to us."

She shrugs.  "The family was real.  If I timed my demonstration so that someone would be sure to catch the show, well, who can blame me?"

"Why," Sam demands, catching on quickly.  "You don't even know us."  Though he sounds a little doubtful.  Cas supposes you can't hunt monsters for thirty years and be absolutely certain you recall every single encounter.

"No, you're right.  I don't know you.  But . . ."  Her eyes move around the room, as though checking for eavesdroppers, then she lowers her voice slightly, losing none of its malice.  "Maybe I know someone that does."

There's a loud clap of thunder right over the room, and Cas looks quickly to both Winchesters to see if they're still standing.  They are, but the witch looks a little nervous, like it was a surprise to her too.

"I should probably get this started," she mutters to no one in particular.  She crouches back down by the Book of Shadows, and begins flipping through the pages.  She's looking for a specific spell, and something inside Castiel knows that he needs to run, knows that if he doesn't he's going to watch Dean and Sam die right here, right in front of him.  His eyes fly around the room, looking for a possible escape.

The witch's hand stills as she finds the sought out page, and then she tears the paper from the book, getting to her feet.  She says nothing, gathering seven white candles from a large bag at her side, and she arranges them, and lights them, in a circle around Dean, who is, thankfully, holding his tongue for perhaps the first time in his entire existence.  Though that doesn't stop him from summoning a murderous glare and shooting it in her general direction.

As the last candle glows with a new flame, the witch inspects the paper in her hand, and then begins a slow chant in a language that no human should know.  It's a spell, he realizes, but that knowledge doesn't scare him half as much as what his mind is telling him the appropriate translation of the words is.

 _I call upon the ancient powers, to bring forth heavenly Grace into this mortal, that he may take in all the powers that God's angels have at their disposal._ Her eyes harden.  _And don't protect the vessel._

She repeats the words over Cas' terrified shouts, and he can do nothing but watch helplessly as Dean's limp body rises slowly into the air as though attached to an invisible string.  Sam's half-choked sob echoes softly in the room, and he knows Sam thinks his brother is dead, because Sam can't understand Enochian, has no idea what's happening.  Cas longs to reassure him, but he's not sure his words would be of much comfort, because . . .

Because when all this is over, Dean will probably wish he was.

He's so wrapped up in his fears for his friends, his preemptive grief, that his shout almost comes too late, but the words he hasn't uttered in what feels like a lifetime rise to his lips just in time: "Close your eyes!"

A moment of complete silence, then brilliant white light explodes into the room, knocking Cas and Sam onto their backs, bursting the windows apart and littering glass across the dated hardwood.  He can't see it, not with human eyes, but he knows Dean's body is lit up like the North Star, every inch of him filling with the Grace that has just come into existence at the young witch's words.  Her Enochian slows to a stop, but the light doesn't dim, and not a heartbeat passes before it's joined by a sharp, high-pitched shriek.  Cas' hands fly to his ears to protect them from the (no, it _can't_ be) voice.

Then it's gone, and the room is plunged into darkness and eery quiet.

"Okay, well, I've got to go," comes the female voice, but there has to be a misunderstanding, because she can't really mean she plans to let them live?

Cas cracks his eyes open, and to his complete disbelief, she's gathering her thick book into her arms, and strolling towards the door.  Like she didn't just essentially murder someone in cold blood because she's . . .  What?  A friend of an enemy?

"Good luck with your buddy, there," she continues, letting out a low, mirthless chuckle.  "You might want to start with teaching him to breathe."  
The door shuts behind her, and after a few seconds a car roars to life somewhere out back.  He looks to Sam, trying to convey with his expression, the way the boys often do, that now is not the time for questions.  Sam stares back, his lips pursed resolutely together, and the tears in his eyes have dried.  Something must be telling him that Dean still stands a chance, which means it will fall to Castiel to rip that hope apart.

Minutes pass, stretching on endlessly, and he spends the time with his gaze trained on Dean, whose skin has returned to its natural color.  He doesn't move, doesn't breathe, but it doesn't matter.  He doesn't need to now.

Not really.

Finally the mobility spells' effects dissipate, and almost at the same time, he and Sam jump into movement, flying to Dean's side.  Sam's hands grasp Dean's forearms, and he searches his brother's face for any signs of life.  He doesn't find any.

"Cas . . ."

"He's . . "  Cas' voice dies in his throat, but one look at Sam's expression, and he forces himself to say the words.  "He's not dead, Sam."

Sam's face erupts with such joy and relief that Cas' stomach clenches painfully.  He determinedly keeps talking, because if he stops, he'll never be able to continue.  "But what that witch did to him - he won't survive it."  He swallows hard, staring down at the man who's been his best friend, the best man he's ever known, and tries to imagine the world without Dean Winchester.  Sam without Dean Winchester.

Castiel without Dean Winchester.

He runs his fingertips along Dean's forehead, brushing stray hairs from his eyes, as he hears Sam draw in a shuttering breath.  "Cas, please," he says.  "What's going on?"

He turns and looks straight into Sam's eyes.  "She turned Dean into an angel."

"An angel," Sam repeats blankly.  He stares down at his brother like he expects him to suddenly sprout wings, or draw an angel's blade from thin air.  Maybe he does.  "Like, an angel-angel?  How?  Is that even possible?"

Castiel takes a deep breath, something he's learned humans do to soothe their nerves, steady their hands, and somehow he finds that it does calm him slightly.  He can continue this explanation, at least.  "It's never been done before, as far as I know, and certainly not by a witch.  Power strong enough to create Grace from nothing, to infuse it into a human who was never supposed to be an angel-"

"But he was," Sam argues, desperation creeping into his voice.  "He was supposed to be Michael's vessel."

"Yes, Michael's vessel.  Michael's Grace, Michael wielding power he had eons of practice with."  He looks down at Dean and his words echo back to him.  Years of fighting side by side, the best and most unlikely friendship he's ever known, a man who's inspired him in every way, to be cut so short by the words of a witch.  "The fact that Dean's body was supposed to be a vessel for Michael means he will have more time than most-"

Hope floods back into Sam's face, and it tugs at Cas with a force that surprises him.  He should know better, he's seen angelic Grace destroy many human vessels in the past, but something traitorous whispers a quiet memory.  _You said no to Michael._

"How much time?"  Sam's determined tone jerks Cas from his thoughts.

He fights for objectivity as he considers everything he knows about Dean.  Everything he's been, everything he's done.  Cas thinks about the brightest, the most beautiful soul he has ever known.  He thinks about the fight for Sam, the limitless love there, purgatory, and bravery that just never ends.  "Four days," he decides.  "Five, at most."

A week, is apparently what Sam hears.  It's what he mutters, anyway, and he gives a short nod to himself before taking one of Dean's arms and wrapping it around his own shoulder.  Cas takes the other, and together they carefully haul Dean to his feet.  "We need to get him to a hotel.  Try to figure something out there."

 

"He's still not breathing."

It's two hours later, and Sam is trying really hard to have the faith that Cas does.  Dean's lying on one of the beds in their recently acquired motel room, his body motionless, and there's been no sign of life at all since they left the farmhouse.  Nevertheless, Cas has maintained that Dean is not dead, and is in no immediate danger.

"Breathing is not the same for angels as it is for humans," Cas answers, his voice steady and calm.  "Breathing is used to help the other systems of the vessel continue functioning in preparation for the return of its true owner.  The Grace inside him will sustain him until his lungs begin functioning again."

Sam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.  But the question is that when Dean wakes up, will they be able to offer anything resembling a plan?  He can't watch his brother die again, that is simply not an option, so he needs to decide on a course of action, like, right now.

As though reading his thoughts, Cas suddenly says, "I may have an idea."

Sam's eyes fly to Cas' face. _Please . . ._ "What?"

"This witch that cast the spell.  I know of witches much more powerful than she - we met once, in the past.  If we take Dean to them, perhaps there would be something they could do."

Sam opens his mouth to answer, but the words die in his throat as the sound of sharp inhalation rises from the mattress.  Then Dean's eyes are fluttering open, and they're focusing on Sam, then, after a moment, on Cas, and it might just be the greatest thing Sam's ever seen.  He could sob in relief, and the stuttering breath coming from Cas says that he is in complete agreement.

"Uh, Sammy," Dean begins uncertainly, slowly sitting up.

That's too much, and barely a heartbeat passes before Sam's throwing his arms around his brother.  "Oh, God," he hears Dean mutter, as he carefully hugs him back.  "Did I die _again_?"

"Not exactly," Cas says, his voice maybe a little gruffer than normal.  "Dean . . ."

Sam pulls away, and gives Dean his most sympathetic look.  "I don't think you're going to like this."

There's a brief moment of silence, in which Sam assumes that Cas is steeling himself, and a quiet intake of breath.  "You're an angel now, Dean."

Dean's eyebrows dart to his hairline and he blinks.  "I'm sorry, is that a flirtation?"

Which Sam doesn't get at all, but judging by the disparaging look Cas shoots his brother, he does.  "Dean, this is not funny."

"No, it's definitely not," Dean reluctantly agrees.  "But, I mean, really, what am I even supposed to say?  I got turned into an angel.  Okay, it's not the worst thing that's happened to me in this job.  Doesn't even rank."  He throws a glance over his right shoulder, then his left, then turns back to Cas.  "Do I have wings?"

Cas huffs out a frustrated breath, but frankly Sam thinks this is a fair question.  He can't help squinting, in a useless attempt to catch a glimpse of them, himself.  "Yes, Dean," Cas says.  His shifts his eyes to the space behind Dean's shoulders, and presses his lips into a tight line.  "It is better to leave them veiled for now, however."

"Even from myself?"  Then he switches gears.  "What about the healing?  The bringing people back from the dead thing?"  He grins in a way that reminds Sam jarringly of a large open field and a trunk full of fireworks.  "Smiting?"

A flicker of something crosses Cas' features, and Sam immediately sobers.  Since they met, Dean has taken great pleasure in exposing Cas to various aspects of humanity, from the epicness of a crepe-maker to the unending list of reasons cat people cannot be trusted, and Cas has always indulged him, resignation and fondness bright in his eyes.  But Cas looks, well, not all that indulgent at this particular moment, which probably isn't so good a thing.

"I don't think it's wise for you to make use of these powers," Cas says, pulling Sam from his thoughts.  "Forcing your body to use this Grace is dangerous - I'm sure you remember the state of Lucifer's temporary vessel.  You were not meant for this power, Dean."

For a moment it looks like Dean is going to argue, but when he slides his eyes over to Cas, he sees something there that halts his words in their tracks.  "Okay," he says, holding his hands up in surrender.  "Whatever, it's fine.  So, how do we turn me back?  I'm assuming my life is on the line here?"  He turns questioning eyes on Sam, who shrugs a _What else is new_.  "Great.  Anybody have a plan?"

"Cas does."

 

Castiel hadn't been an angel for very long before he began hearing the whispers of his Father's plan for the planet, Earth.  It was to have both water and land.  Oxygen.  It would be inhabited by mammals called humans and they would be imperfect, broken creatures.  They would betray the Father's trust in the garden of Eden, they would kill each other for favor, for passing pleasures.  They would lie and cheat and take pleasure in each others' pain, and some would even turn away from the One who created them.  And Castiel hadn't understood, not really, why this race should deserve something as beautiful as a colorful, livable planet to call their own.

That is, until he saw them.

They were everything he expected.  Eve bit the apple, Cain killed Abel, Egypt's Pharaoh brought sorrow to his people but amid all the ugliness were acts so selfless, so loving, that they spoke to Castiel.  And it seemed as though no time passed at all before he could no longer take part in discussions of humanity's many faults because he was, to his own amazement, rooting for them.  Hoping they would overcome their many, many obstacles, find peace.

He started listening for news, and by the time he heard that a prophecy had been foretold of three good witches that would be the most powerful of all time, he had seen so much good in the world that he thought he was prepared, that he couldn't really be taken off guard anymore.

He had, once again, underestimated humanity.

It was an honor to watch.  The three sisters were deeply close, almost unparallelled in their devotion to each other, and, with time, their destiny.  He watched as they saved innocent after innocent, vanquishing demons the world had never seen the equal of, making decisions he could not have imagined to make himself.  So, the day he met Piper Halliwell, he was rather disconcerted when their casual discussion descended into a full blow argument.

She wasn't supposed to fall in love with her Whitelighter, a good witch's guardian angel.  It was against the rules, and though Castiel's love for humanity was beginning to reach new heights, the moment he realized what she was intimating about her relationship with Leo when they spoke that afternoon Leo brought her up to Heaven to meet his bosses, he had immediately gone to his own supervisors to report the transgression.  And  when he confessed to her what he had done, she had been . . . very angry.

It's of all this that Cas is thinking as he and the Winchesters carefully ascend the steps of 1329 Prescott Street in San Francisco, California.  He leads the way because, as Dean pointed out, he's the one who has already made acquaintance with at least one of them, though privately Cas thinks this actually works against them.  He's fairly certain he can guess what Piper's response is going to be once she realizes who is standing at her threshold.

Nevertheless, he presses his finger against the doorbell determinedly.

It's fairly quiet, considering the information he received the last time he asked about the Halliwells.  Living at this residence should be Piper, her husband, and their three children, ages approximately eleven, ten, and seven, and while Cas has no real experience with children himself, he has managed to gather that they are a rather loud and disobedient breed.  Shouldn't it be nosier than this?

Just as he begins to wonder if they should consider the possibility that the Halliwells may have moved, the door swings open.

It's not Piper that stands before him; not a Halliwell at all, judging by the shoulder-length blond hair.  Every single female in that family is a brunette.  She isn't looking at them with even the smallest note of surprise, though, which he hopes is a good thing.

"Hello," he greets.  He glances at Sam and Dean, who both give their own versions of a supportive smile.  "I'm-"

The young woman turns away and yells into the house, "They're here!"


	3. Chapter 3

Having the powers of an angel and not being allowed to use them makes this officially the most boring Big Deal of Dean's long career.  He never wanted to be an angel - a long year of dodging Michael's increasingly impatient advances proved that - but it's only fair that, since his vampire-self had to deal with the gigantic fang teeth, that his celestial one should be allowed to experience a perk or two of being an Angel of the Lord, or whatever.  He definitely isn't aiming to test his flying ability any time soon, but it might be cool to do some healing or something.  Doesn't seem like too much to ask since he's probably going to die within the next week.

Cas, however, has not been the slightest bit sympathetic to his plight, maintaining that it is dangerous for Dean to try to access this alien Grace, and Sam seems content to go along with whatever Cas thinks.

 _Family_ , he can't help thinking ruefully, but then his eyes slide over to Cas, who is anxiously waiting for someone to answer the door, eyes all squinty, flitting to the windows, and he tries not to roll his eyes at himself. _Well - kind of._ Because, and it's one of those _If you would have told me four years ago_ things, being pathetically in love with someone doesn't really make them your brother.

It's never made any kind of sense.  He fought side by side with Cas for years with no doubts, no second guessing, and while, yes, there had been an odd sort of "bond" or whatever, he had been able to ignore it, chalking up the affection, the protectiveness, to close friendship, never examining it too closely.  Never wanting to.  Because whenever he allowed himself a moment to reflect over too-long stares, too-close proximity, he faced more questions than answers.

It was Purgatory that changed everything.  Laying eyes on a dirty, grimy Cas after . . . so long looking for him, praying to him, thinking he was dead, again, the overwhelming relief that rushed over him nearly knocked him over.  And he'd known, in that moment, that he couldn't do this again.  That he had somehow gone from _used_ to Cas in his life, to _needing_ it, and he could have kissed him.

Like, _really_ kissed him.  Pressed him into the ground, trail lips down his throat.  Snap apart that confining self control, and let himself show Cas just how relieved he was.

It was probably a good thing Benny was there.

Dean planned to be patient.  To get out of Purgatory, allow them time to readjust, and then he would somehow find the words to talk to Cas.  He couldn't be sure what the reaction would be, but if he and Cas could survive an apocalypse, a rebellion, and mind control, he felt confident that if the answer was no, a little awkwardness wouldn't be a problem.  Hell, it wouldn't be them if there was none at all.

Of course it hadn't worked out that way, and now Cas is a human, finding his sea legs, and Dean spends his afternoons mentally grumbling about his shitty timing.

He forces his attention back to the scene unfolding in front of him, and then blinks at the newcomer.  Now standing beside the blonde is an older woman, in her late thirties, if he had to guess, with surprisingly long brown hair, and kind brown eyes.  She offers them a smile, and extends a hand to Castiel, who takes it, if a little hesitantly.  "We've been expecting you," she says.

Dean glances at Sam.  Cas filled them in on his history with this family, and something in his expression tells Dean that this is exactly the person he has dreaded seeing.

"I'm Piper Halliwell.  This is my friend, Billie Jenkins," she continues, completely oblivious.  Which she would be.  He has no clue at all what Cas looked like when they met in Heaven, but he's betting that the then-angel wasn't wearing Jimmy Novak.  He wonders if she's seen Cas' wings, and accepts the girlish pang of jealousy that comes along for the ride.

She stares, expectant.

"Castiel."  The answer is slow, careful.

It's a little nerve-racking, Dean's not too ashamed to admit, to stand there and silently watch as the recognition settles in behind her eyes.  She blinks, and her features harden slightly.  "Castiel.  The angel."

"Yes.  Though I'm not an angel anymore."

She lets out an annoyed huff of breath and turns her eyes upward.  Dean feels like he can sense an internal battle raging: slam the door in the face of the guy that nearly cost her her husband, or help the innocents?  "Okay," she says after a moment, with only the smallest amount of disdain.  "It's fine.  Come on in."

She steps back, and Dean, Sam, and Cas follow her into the manor.

Dean's been inside more residences than he can count in his thirty-odd years, and he can't help but note the utter sense of _family_ that's so deeply ingrained in the scuffed hardwood floors, the overstuffed couch with the frayed edges, the toys scattered haphazardly across the conservatory floor.  This is a place that has been loved, he knows.

But there's something else too, scratching at the corners of his mind, something that whispers a long history of magic, of power that is almost unmatched in its strength.  It bubbles just under the surface of the house and Dean can't fight a dart of fear that strikes him hard in the pit of his stomach.  It takes all the self-restraint he has in reserve to keep from grabbing Cas with one hand and Sam with the other, and pulling his family out of here right the fuck now.  He swallows, and when he looks up he sees Piper, Billie, and Sam watching him with raised eyebrows.  

"He's sensing the Nexus," Cas explains, as an expression that might be wistfulness flickers quickly across his face.

Sam steals a not-at-all-subtle, appraising inspection at his brother.  "Nexus?"  Dean can practically see the wheels in his nerdy little brain turning.  "Like, a spiritual Nexus?"

"Yeah, our house was built on one."  Piper turns to Cas.  "But we destroyed it, years ago."

"It wouldn't matter," he replies.  "The echo remains."  His eyes turn sympathetic as they meet Dean's.  "It's not a pleasant feeling for an angel, I'd imagine."  When Dean gives a short nod, he sighs.  "The Nexus residing under the Halliwell Manor is ancient magic, as old as time, and it's been harnessed a number of times for evil's purposes.  It's not easy, Dean, I know, but you must try to put it out of your mind."

 _Easier said than done_ , Dean thinks, so it's a little bit of a relief that Billie chooses that moment to speak up again.  "You're an angel," she asks with an innocent curiosity that reminds him strikingly of Sam.  "Not a Whitelighter, but an actual.  Angel.  Where are your wings?"

"Yeah, Cas.  Where are my wings?"

"I've advised him not to use any of abilities.  The Grace inside him-"

"Okay!"  Piper whistles sharp and loud, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.  "People!  Can we please focus on the big picture here?"  She turns to Sam, who tries not to flinch under the steely gaze.  "My sisters should be here soon; they ran out to get some herbs we might need for potions, but I can give them the cliff notes version when they get back.  Why don't you fill Billie and me in?"

So Sam takes a deep breath, and launches into an in-depth explanation of the events leading to the trio's arrival.  He talks about the witch, the spell, what the Grace will inevitably do to his brother.  Dean can't help but notice the way Billie's eyes stay trained on Sam's face, and when she catches him staring, she cocks an eyebrow as though to say, _Yeah, and?_

He smirks back.  _No judgement here.  He could use it._

As Sam's story draws to a close, Piper presses her lips together into a tight line that really does nothing to soothe Dean's anxiety.  "A spell that can turn a human being into an angel?  Can't say I've ever heard of anything like that."  She glances at her friend.  "What about you?"

Billie shakes her head.  "Nothing comes to mind.  And wouldn't that require a lot of firepower?  I mean, is that the kind of thing even the infamous Charmed Ones could do?"

Piper doesn't answer, which is really an answer all on its own, and silence falls.

"You guys should see your faces."

There was a time when that voice was a starring role in Dean's darkest nightmares.  Sometimes terrified, sometimes furious, it spewed words that were too accurate to ever truly leave his thoughts, and even in his waking hours his own argument sounded weak.  _I'm sorry.  Sam was- and I had to make a choice.  God, I'm so sorry, Adam . . ._

He turns, though he knows what he'll see.  A blond male in his early twenties, medium height, sharp features.  He dons simple jeans and a tee shirt, and his hands rest in the pockets of his denim jacket.  Every inch of him is arrogance and anger.  "Miss me?"

 

The truth is, Sam and Dean could have gone their entire lives without ever knowing anything about a kid in Windom, Minnesota named Adam Milligan.  They had never had reason to suspect that there was someone missing from their family, or that their father was doing anything more than hunting monsters on the nights he didn't return to the motel.  John Winchester was already known for having a short fuse, and if there were days when his tone was a little sharper, and tension a little higher, they never would have thought that it had anything to do with an illegitimate half-brother.

They'd known him one day. Dead when they found him, then resurrected by the angels as a makeshift vessel for Michael, Adam hadn't wanted to hear all the reasons they hadn't known anything about him, why John was gone 364 days a year.  He'd been furious, stubborn, and he could have fit in perfectly, there was just no use denying it.  But Death had given Dean a choice and he had chosen Sam, and Adam had paid the price.

Though if Sam is being honest with himself, he has to admit that 500 years in Hell doesn't seem to have had any sort of lasting impact on the 20 year old body standing in the Halliwell's living room.

"He a friend of yours," Piper asks, and out of the corner of his eye Sam watches her hands twitch at her sides.  If his memory serves, she's the one with the freezing/blowing up power that might be the coolest thing he's ever heard of in his life, and so he guesses she is keeping herself from going on the offensive before getting the details.  Which, really, he should be grateful for, but he's thinking that Adam being here now is probably not a good thing.

Adam turns a cold smile on Piper.  "I'm their brother," he says, and the room seems to crackle with his heavy fury.  "Don't really get talked about much.  I'm kind of the black sheep of the family."

"Adam."  Cas' voice comes from Sam's left, and is carefully calm.  "How did you escape the Cage?"  Which, Sam was really more focused on whether or not he was behind all of this, but the former angel's question casts light on a problem he hadn't even considered.  He, himself, had been rescued by an angel of the freaking Lord, and his soul hadn't even made it out the first go-around.  How is Adam standing here?

He arches his eyebrows, but doesn't answer.

"Maybe it's not Adam at all," Dean suggests, taking a step closer.  (Cas steps closer too, and if the situation weren't as we're-about-to-die-any-minute as it is, Sam would probably roll his eyes.)

But Adam doesn't snap his fingers and blow everyone away, which Sam decides to count as a win, though he doesn't back down either.  "No, I'm definitely 100% Adam here.  I learned my lesson the last time."

"How did you get out of the Cage," Cas repeats and at the hostile look Adam shoots him, Sam stiffens.  Adam may be blood, and it might be Sam and Dean's fault that he's been cooling his heels in Hell for a few centuries, but that doesn't mean that Sam won't cheerfully throw him to the ground if he tries to lay a hand on Cas.  It nearly killed Dean the last time they thought Cas was dead, and if something were to happen to him now, now that he's chosen the Winchesters, Dean, again.  Well that might be enough to finish the job.

"Look, Adam," Sam begins - and then a lot of things happen at once.

Adam steps forward, Piper snaps at him to _Stop right there_.  He doesn't, then the sudden sound of a fiery explosion bursts through the air like a gun shot.  Adam lets out a shout, and doubles over, gripping his stomach in agony and just as he's righting himself and Sam starts to feel real concern for the safety of the dark haired witch that delivered the magical blow, the front door to the manor flies open, two women rushing into the room.

"Who are we fighting," demands the one Sam assumes is the younger of the two strangers, and Piper immediately points at Adam.

The other newcomer stares.  "The kid?"

"Crystals-"

But whatever the youngest sister planned to do is cut short when Adam vanishes into thin air.  Sam tries to listen for the sound of wings, but if he's getting around angelically in some way, the sound is hidden among the ruckus.

"So," Billie says brightly after a long moment where everyone in the room stares at each other blankly.  "That was your brother?  Don't take this the wrong way, but the guy could use a Prozac."

He can't help the way his lips quirk up and he finds his eyes resting a beat longer on the young witch.  "Yeah, you're telling us."  He glances quickly at Dean and Cas, breathes a sigh of relief to see that neither was accidentally seared to death by the blast.

"I'm Paige."  The girl that had called for the crystals sticks out a hand that Sam shakes, chuckling low.  "I, uh.  You know.  Call for things with my mind.  It's a whole thing.  And this is Phoebe."  She gestures to the final woman, who remains silent, her eyes darting quickly between the three men.  "She's not normally this rude, but she's an empath, so she's just checking to make sure you guys aren't secretly ax murderers or demons or something."

"Damn, that would be a handy power to have around," Dean mutters, not bothering to hide an envious glare and Sam thoroughly agrees.

"I'm Sam.  This is my brother, Dean, and our friend, Castiel."  The other two men squeeze her hand in turn.

"Definitely not evil," Phoebe interrupts with a decisive nod.  She smiles wide and draws closer to Dean.  "You must be the angel."

Dean shrugs, and as she begins a quick series of questions, Sam turns back to Billie, replaying her brief dialogue with Piper in his mind, the memory of her clear, green eyes shadowed with uncertainty twisting his stomach into nervous knots.  "So, is there anything you can do?"

But the question seems to clear her mind, and she's all confidence when she answers, "I'm sure we'll figure something out.  It's kind of our specialty."

He breathes a little easier, and grins.  "We have that in common."

 

It's quiet after that for a while.  Paige and Phoebe present the herbs they purchased, and Piper bottles them with vague explanations of "deflection" and "more for protection than anything else."  Cas and the Winchesters answer dozens of questions about their predicament, and listen to the various ideas that each witch considers, and ultimately discards, and at the end of it all the only suggestion with merit is Phoebe's, "Time to check the Book."  So the group migrates to the attic, Cas falling into a deliberate step by Piper as they travel up the staircase.

"I was sorry to hear about Prudence," he says.  He's wanted to say so since they arrived.  Even from his location in Heaven he felt the terrible grief that had followed the eldest sister's death, and though he had been made aware of the plan that was in motion for uncovering Paige's part in the Charmed One's destiny, it was difficult to ignore Piper's heartbroken pleas to rewind time and take her instead.  Looking back, he supposes he should have been _expecting_ the friendship of one man to take his slivers of doubt and burst them wide open.

Now, she looks over at him, surprised.  "Thank you."

"She was a good person.  It's unfortunate, the way it unfolded."  He knows enough of Piper to know that she couldn't choose to trade the sister she has for the sister she lost, and he struggles to say the right thing.  After the Leviathans departed from his body, he had resolved to mend as much of the pain he had caused as possible, and though his sins against Piper's relationship with Leo took place long before his path to Purgatory, he finds himself wanting to fix this problem as well.

A wisp of a smile ghosts across her face.  "What happened to _you_ ," she teases, as whatever residual tension that still existed fades away.

And his eyes fall on Dean, laughing at whatever it is Sam is saying.  "It's a long story."

"Some day I want you to tell it to me."

When they get to the landing, Paige is already perusing the Book and Phoebe and Sam find seats in the antique chair and love seat while Dean seems content to hover impatiently at Paige's side. Her hands still over one of the entries and Dean apparently feels the need to point out, "That's for something called an Abraxas."  He pauses.  "What's an Abraxas?"

"Demon, and a spell can always be reworded, you know," she tells him, the tiniest bit of annoyance creeping into her tone.

"Yeah," Billie chimes in.  She lowers herself into the very large, pink cushion Dean once told him is called a "Bean Bag Chair."  Frankly, he has never understood how it could be comfortable.  "She helped vanquish the freaking Source, she can rewrite a spell.  Although I don't think the Abraxas spell would work."

Paige throws her a frown, turning the page.  "Yeah, thanks, I know."

"What Source," Dean asks, throwing a curious glance at Cas, but it's Piper that answers.

"The source of all evil."

When Cas doesn't argue with the provided explanation, Dean lets out an irritated breath.  "What does that mean?  Like, Lucifer?"

"Lucifer?  Satan?  No such thing."

"Uh, yeah there is.  My brother's been up close and personal with the guy.  Practically besties."

Sam frowns.  "That's a little bit of an exaggeration, don't you think," he says, and even Cas doesn't miss the way his eyes skirt to Billie, who grins.

"Oh, don't worry about it - we've all been evil at some point," she assures him.  "I, myself, spent an evening as a government test-demon, so we're not really ones to judge."  She gestures to Paige, who continues her search through the Book.  "She was a vampire once.  Before my time, but I've heard the story.  A few times, actually."  She shoots a pointed look at Paige, who shoots back a mock-glare.  It's familiar in a way that somehow warms Cas' insides.

Dean rolls his eyes.  "Like that's a big deal.  I've been a vampire before too.  Hell, I've been dead.  A lot."

From Cas' right, Piper scoffs.  "We're the Charmed Ones, you don't think we've died?  I've been _Death_."

"Technically," Cas intervenes, off the look in Dean's eyes, "she was just a Reaper."  Though if he had been hoping that would be enough to derail the conversation, he's sorely disappointed.

"You know, Death is one of our close friends," Dean tells Piper.  Now _that's_ an exaggeration, and Sam's expression says that he agrees but Cas learned long ago not to go so far as to discredit Dean when the man's pride is in question.  "He's done us a few favors here and there.  Brought a soul out of Hell for us, once."

"And we get our own souls from Hell."

For the first time since they entered the attic, Phoebe speaks up.  "Can you guys please cut it out," she snaps.  Cas glances over to see her head in her hands, her fingers gently massaging her temples.  "There's a lot of emotion in this little room, and it's hard enough to sort them out without you two breaking out the measuring sticks."

Piper flicks her eyes to the ceiling but sighs.  "Fine."

"Too bad she stopped you there.  I would have loved to see you try to compete with stopping the apocalypse."

" _Anyway_ -"  Paige looks up, sudden interest brightening her face.  "You said Death pulled a soul out of Hell for you?  Any chance he'd do something like that for this kid, Adam?"

Dean, Cas, and Sam all share a look.  It's an interesting idea, Cas decides, and the implications are limitless.  What does that mean for Lucifer?  How would Adam reach Death to being with?  Part of what Dean told Piper is true: Death has done more for the older Winchester than he's done for another human, ever, but if he can be convinced by Dean, it stands to reason that Adam might find the right words as well.  He is Dean's brother.

"Because I've searched this book," Paige continues, "and I'm telling you, there is nothing in here about de-angelfying a mortal, or a witch known for casting spells like the one you guys described.  So . . ."

"So it all comes back to Adam," Sam finishes for her, and his frown of dismay matches exactly Cas' feeling.

"At least for now."

"I don't . . .  Yeah, maybe," Dean concedes after a moment.  His eyes narrow almost to slits, and Cas knows he's thinking about the past, about an impossible situation, an impossible decision to make.  It's his way, to lay blame on himself when no one else will, and Cas resolves, in that moment, to speak with him the next time they are alone.

"So, we're calling Death, then," Billie asks, pulling Cas from his thoughts  She sounds, in his opinion, too eager for this undertaking, because Death - he's never been very patient with being dragged into human affairs, and the Winchesters do call on him a lot.  The last time they faced each other, Dean was summoning him to kill an powered-up Castiel and the fact that he had actually been prepared to do so does not make Cas relish the idea of sharing a space with him again.

Piper shrugs, looks to Cas.  "What do you think?"

But then he catches Dean watching him, and the the memory of his friend's motionless body shifts jarringly into view.  It's Dean's life that's in danger here, so what other option do they even have?  "Yes," he says, and if it comes out a little strong, he feels he can hardly be faulted.

Sam shoots him a small smile of gratitude that he returns instinctively.  It's strange, he thinks, that he and the younger Winchester should have taken so long to form a close friendship, when Cas' choices have always lead him into the Winchesters' camp.  The connection with Dean was always there, a palpable pressure between the two, and tied them together on nights when they were hunting, and on nights when Cas was in heaven, remotely monitoring a motel room where two brothers slept, or laid awake, bickering.  So, he should have been close to Sam from the start, because he was close with Dean, and, really, how long had Sam been "The Boy With the Demon Blood" anyway, before that illusion, too, was shattered before his angelic eyes?

It's here now, he reminds himself, and the camaraderie they share when it comes to Dean's ailment feels so natural that a strange, warm feeling travels up his arms, clenches around his stomach, squeezing tight.  Having this family has come to mean so much that he can barely remember a time when he ever thought giving up Heaven would be a sacrifice.

Across the room, Billie jumps to her feet, catching everyone's attention.

"What can you tell me about this Death guy," she asks.  Her question, he suspects, is directed at the three of them, so he's unsure as to why her gaze is so fastened on Sam.  "I'm assuming we're talking about an Upper Level Demon situation, right?"

"Not sure you want him to overhear you calling him a demon," Sam mutters, and Cas privately agrees.  "But he's powerful, if that's what you mean."

"Anything else?"  She retrieves a small piece of chalk from the stand that holds the Book, and stoops down to draw a large, complex sigil on the floor.  It's not one he's seen before, but he knows enough about witches' magic to understand that it's a displacement charm, and suddenly he realizes what she plans to do.

"I'm not sure this is wise," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sam and Dean are familiar with Death, but -"  He's not sure it would be polite to finish with _I don't think he would like you_ so he falls silent.

Dean raises his eyebrows.  "What's going on?"

Piper sighs, and it's clear that she's struggling between trying to be supportive of her young friend's plan, and concern for her safety.  Cas knows that feeling very well.  "She wants to project herself to him."

"And by project, you mean . . ."

Billie rolls her eyes as she settles onto the attic floor in the center of her sketch, careful not to smudge the chalk.  "Projecting.  It's one of my powers: I can send myself through time or distance to wherever I want to go."  There's a note of pride in her voice, but it mixes with something else, bitterness, or regret, it's hard for Cas to discern.  "So, I figure, instead of summoning the guy, because, you know, some of these guys are all pride, we could just go straight to him."

"You don't think it would be safer to bring him here," Paige questions, even as she closes the Book and steps back.  "You know: Halliwell attic, Book of Shadows, four witches, two hunters and an angel?"

"Dean is not actually an angel," Cas feels the need to remind them and he allows a drop of annoyance to fall into his tone.  The last thing he needs is for anyone to be under the very mistaken impression that Cas will be training Dean to use his angel powers for their protection.  Drawing on the Grace will only shorten the amount of time they have before it takes over completely and his body cannot sustain it anymore.

Sam is the voice of reason.  "Look, Billie, no offense, but this isn't going to work," he says gently.  His expression is drenched with kindness and understanding.  "Even if you could get to Death by using your projection power, you wouldn't know where to find him, or what to say."

For a moment she says nothing and Cas thinks that Sam has, once again, managed to use what Dean calls his "puppy dog eyes" to convince her, but then she shakes her head.  "Well, then, I guess I should bring a passenger."  She grins up at Sam.  "Wanna come?"


	4. Chapter 4

Dean has real reservations with this plan, regardless of how many times Sam assures him it's going to be fine.

It's not that he's having trouble trusting these witches.  They seem honest, and definitely not evil, and Piper has evidently dropped whatever frostiness she felt for Cas, which works in their favor.  And there's really nothing wrong with Billie either, her optimism rubbing off on Sam, significantly lessening the kid's worry lines.

But there's something about sending his brother off to Death that sets him ill at ease.

"Dean," Sam begins for the umpteenth time.  They're standing away from the women, who are talking quietly amongst themselves.  "I've met Death before, and he didn't zero in on me then."

"Yeah, I know."

"And Billie's a full-on witch.  Super strength, power to freaking turn things into what she wants them to be, along with the teleporting thing.  And you have to admit that it's safer than summoning him and seriously pissing him off, or, you know, dying."

"Dean," Cas interjects quietly, and suddenly the ex-angel's heavy, warm hand is resting on his forearm.  His heart gives a painful jerk, but he finds that the serenity in the bright blue eyes finds a way to calm him.  "I know a lot about these witches.  They won't allow anything to happen to Sam - they wouldn't put him in real danger."

Unable to answer, or think, really, with Cas too close yet again, Dean lets out a breath and nods.

"So how, exactly, is this going to work," Sam asks Billie, as the group turns and draws close to the large sigil.

She settles onto the floor, on the far right side of the sigil, and motions for Sam to take a seat directly beside her.  "We're going to hold hands."  She reaches out and grasps Sam's left hand with her right.  "And I'm going to focus on this guy, and it should bring us straight to him."

" _Should?_ "

Billie ignores Dean.  "You might want to focus on him too, picture him in your mind."  She shrugs.  "I don't know, sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't.  It's not an exact science."

"Be careful."  Paige reaches out and squeezes Billie's shoulder.  "And _try_ not to piss the guy off."

"Guys, relax."  She grins confidently at Sam, and Dean tries not to tell her to let his brother do all the talking.  "I'm an old pro now."  Then, without another word, her eyes slip closed and they're gone.

 

Sam's been teleported a time or two in his life, so he immediately shuts his eyes the moment he feels the bottom of the Halliwell attic vanish beneath him.  There's an odd sensation of shifting without moving, of being somewhere new, but not there at all, and he can't even imagine how he'll explain it to Dean later.  Then finally, after what feels like hours of being suspended in midair, he's suddenly sitting on something solid again.

Billie shakes the hand that he's holding, and he slowly takes a peek, not too ashamed to admit to himself that he's a little terrified.  But there's no demon waiting to rip his head off, no indication that he's in Hell or Purgatory.  Actually, as far as he can tell, they're in the middle of a big open park.  A big, _empty_ open park, but he assumed it would, of course, be creepy in some way.  They're looking for Death, after all.

They stand at the same time.  "So, what does he look like," Billie asks, dusting her hands off onto her jeans.  "I mean, I'm guessing that the first person-shaped thing we see will be the guy, but, you know.  Just in case."

Sam scans the area around them, but they're alone as far as he can tell.  The park is situated in the middle of a city block, though what city they're in, he has no idea.  "He's . . ."  Can Death hear them, where he is?  Is elderly too offensive a word?  "Um, you know.  A man.  He has a cane, I think."

Billie blinks twice.  "Okay, great, thanks."

"Look, this place is empty.  We should try the streets.  He's probably around here somewhere."

"Okay, sounds like a plan."

They deliberate briefly on which way to go, and Sam wins out because his suggestion of East Blvd, where a line of restaurants stretches out as far as they can see, is supported by actual evidence that Death seems to be eating every time the Winchesters have needed his help.  But Billie doesn't argue, anyway, and they start down the road in amiable silence.

The first restaurant is a place called _Kristen's Fish and Grille_ but it's small, and a quick look inside says that the dining area is empty.

"Since we're looking for one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse together, I think I should know a little more about you," Billie says, as they enter a _Longhorn Steakhouse_.  Empty.

Sam's not too sure about the correlation there, but he can't really complain when Billie's eyes are so wide, and she smells like peaches.  "What do you want to know?"

She considers him for a second, then says, "Well, tell me this.  How do two young, relatively sane guys fall into the business of fighting monsters and demons?"  And she would have to jump to the most complicated question first.

"Our father raised Dean and me in it," is the safest way to phrase his answer.

Billie shifts her gaze over to him, and he's torn between wanting to meet it, and reminding himself that regardless of how beautiful and kind she is, it doesn't matter anyway, because they're going to fix Dean up and be on their way, and she'll still be here.  After Amelia he promised himself that he would stop leaving a trail of women in his wake, and Billie definitely qualifies.

"That sucks," she finally says, dropping her eyes  He's relieved when she doesn't press further.

"What about you?"  He can see the next restaurant, something with a green awning two blocks up, so they follow the road in that direction.  "Were you always a witch?"

A shadow moves behind her eyes, but it's gone so quickly he's not sure if he saw it to begin with.  "Not always.  I found out I had powers when I was in college.  I met the sisters right after that, actually."

He grins.  "I bet that was a surprise."

"You're not kidding.  But."  She shrugs.  "It was fun at first."

Sam thinks he understands.  There are negatives, so many that it makes his head hurt just to think of them all (Ellen, Jo, Bobby, John and Mary Winchester, just to start), but he long ago abandoned the idea that there's nothing that makes the job any easier.  His closeness with his brother had seemed like a foreign idea at Standford when he had been surrounded by classmates and normalcy close enough to distract him, but now it's here, so strong and alive that it sustains everything Hell and Heaven throw at them.  And there's that feeling of redemption with each life they save, and Sam knows he has a lot to atone for.

He opens his mouth to reply, but before he can they're approaching an Italian restaurant ( _Collazo's Pizza and Italian Eatery_ ) and Billie is skidding to a stop just outside.

"Okay, well, looks like we've found him."

Sam peers through the window of the restaurant, and immediately recognizes the imposing figure he's come to know as one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.  Death is sitting with his back to the door, nibbling carefully on a slice of pizza, completely at ease, and Sam shoots Billie a grim smile.

She catches on right away.  "Oh.  He's expecting us."  She frowns when Sam nods back, then sets her shoulders and pulls on the door handle.  "Okay, well, the element of surprise is overrated anyway," she says, stepping into the restaurant.  Sam quickens his step, putting himself between Billie and Death, and when they both slow to a stop in front of Death's table, he looks up at them with an air of supreme disinterest.

"Sam Winchester," he says by way of greeting.  "This is getting ridiculous.  I have to tell you that I find the number of your favors a little tiresome by now.  And Billie Jenkins, another who has evaded me in the past.  I am surprised to see the pair of you together.  Please.  Sit down."

Sam lowers himself into the offered seat, and is relieved to see Billie do the same without comment.  "We're sorry to bother you," he begins, hoping Death can see just how much he means that.  Despite his confident words to his brother, he had been kinda hoping they would never have to meet with Death again.  "We just have a quick question and we'll be out of your hair."

Death glances at Billie, who stutters out a, "Y-yeah, we're, uh, really sorry."

For a moment Death says nothing, and Sam wonders if this is their cue to go, then finally he answers, very slowly, "What do you wish to ask me?"

Sam takes a deep breath.  "We were wondering if you know why Adam Milligan is alive."

Death studies them, tilting his head in a way that is so different from Cas that it throws Sam a bit.  "I do," he replies.

Billie sits up very straight and her small frame practically vibrates with excitement.  "Why?"

"That is between myself and the parties involved."

Which sounds like a blow off, but Sam has been in this game for a while, so he catches the way Death's mouth frowns with disdain, the way he suddenly doesn't seem to be enjoying his meal as much.  And truthfully he has no idea what makes him venture such a wild guess, other than the fact that, well, this is what it's like to be a Winchester and it's become such a staple of his life to ask questions such as these: "Does this have anything to do with Lucifer?"

"Perhaps."

Billie narrows angry eyes at Death.  "I thought you guys were all supposed to be neutral or whatever, and you're telling us you're in league with the freaking ruler of Hell?  That doesn't sound very neutral to me."

The look Death sends her is so deeply offended that it takes all of Sam's self-restraint to avoid scooting a little away from her in his chair.  "I am not 'in league' with anyone, Ms. Jenkins.  I assure you, I did not resurrect Adam for my own interests."

"So you _did_ resurrect him."

Death shrugs.

"But why?"  Sam shakes his head disbelievingly.  "You were never really a fan of Lucifer to begin with; what the hell would make you do him a favor?  And how does bringing back Adam, who was Michael's vessel, by the way, help _him_?"  He's getting a migraine though, he supposes, it's slightly better than having a panic attack.

Death looks unmoved.  "I did not agree to an interview," he says. "It is not among my many responsibilities to make sure that the gaps in your understanding have been filled to your satisfaction.  I will answer one more question and then you will depart from me, not to bother me again until - well, until the next Winchester has found himself in Hell, most likely.  I will even tell you which question to ask, which is _Is Lucifer still in the Cage_?  And the answer to that question is Yes."  His lips twist into a mocking smile. "You're welcome.  Now please leave."

Sam stands, acknowledging the dismissal, but Billie doesn't move, fixing a glare on Death that is actually a pretty impressive, considering who she's facing.  "Okay," she says, leaning close enough to Death that Sam stiffens.  "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but that doesn't really tell us anything that will help Sam's brother - he's turning into an angel, if you were wondering.  I mean, okay, great, Satan isn't walking around on earth-"

"Billie," Sam warns softly.

"But just because Adam is working alone-"

Death arches his long, thin eyebrows.  "I did not say that Adam is working alone."

"Okay, sorry, aside from the witch that cast the spell on Dean."

"Sam."

Sam tries not to flinch at the impatience in the tone and musters up an expression that he hopes resembles something close to respect, with a dose of somber humility.  "Yeah?"

"Please remove this girl from my sight.  I am finding her presence exhausting."

Before Death can decide to kill Billie solely on principal, Sam gently grasps her shoulder, and pulls her to her feet.  "Thanks for your help."

They're out of the restaurant before he can release the breath he's been unconsciously holding, and Billie immediately pulls away.  "I don't understand," she admits, crossing her arms over her chest.  "At first I thought he was trying to avoid telling us anything at all, but.  How important is it that Lucifer is still trapped?"

"I don't know," Sam admits.

Frankly, he needs a nap himself.

 

They watch Sam and Billie disappear, and it's quiet for the first few minutes following.  Paige and Phoebe excuse themselves to go call their husbands, and Piper follows shortly after, muttering something about checking on dinner, but on her way out of the room, she steals a furtive glance at Cas and Dean that Cas has not been human long enough to decipher.

Her footsteps echo as she descends the stairs, and Cas lets the silence stretch on a little longer.  Even with the circumstances before them, it's nice, to stand like this with his friend.

"What is Adam _doing_?"

Cas tilts his head at Dean, and sees the guilt, the frustration, sketched across his features like a confession.  His jaw is clenched, his eyes tight.  "Dean," he says softly.  "This is not your fault."

Dean lets out a mirthless laugh.  "Somehow I don't think Adam agrees with you."

Cas steps closer, and he tries to pretend that he doesn't notice the way his fingers twitch with the desire to smooth out the worry lines in Dean's forehead, or brush the sides of his face until his expression clears.  He doesn't stop moving until he's standing right in front of Dean, and he forces him to meet his gaze.  "There is nothing you could have done.  He was in Lucifer's Cage."

Dean doesn't look away, but shakes his head stubbornly.  "I got Death to get Sam's soul out," he says sharply, as though the words are wretched from him through force.

"It was dangerous to ask him for help then, and we both know he would not have done it for you a second time.  If Adam had been provided with a choice between you and his mother, it would be you in the Cage right now."  There's no answer, and Cas continues gently, "Dean, do you blame me for not returning to the Cage for Adam as I did for Sam?"

"Cas, come on."  He seems offended at the very question, and Cas allows himself the warmth that wraps around him yet again.  "Of course not.  You would have gotten yourself killed."

"Perhaps I should have attempted it, regardless.  Certainly his destiny was greater than my own."

"No.  Dude, stop talking like this."  Dean's voice doesn't change, but he's suddenly staring at Cas with thinly concealed fear, and there is no doubt in Cas' mind that his friend is remembering a conversation from over a year ago, remembering his own strained _I'm worried that I might kill myself._ And it seems so heartless to twist that knife just to bring a point home, but it doesn't mean he won't.

"Then _you_ stop," he snaps.  White-hot fury coils in the pit of his stomach, and he glares daggers at Dean.  "Stop blaming yourself for this, stop wishing you had endangered your life yet again to save someone who was beyond your capacity to save.  How do you think Sam would handle losing his other brother, how I - I would feel losing you?  The three of us are all we have.  That's what _you_ told me."  He aims to keep the accusation out of his voice but is unsure if he succeeds.

Dean exhales slowly, and when he nods it feels like a small victory.  "God, you're obnoxious," he says, the affection so strong in that moment that Cas' anger dies away and he can't hide a rueful smile.

"My apologies."

He wants to say more because there are hundreds of arguments that he could lay out detailing Dean's selflessness, the ways he's saved Cas more times than he can count (and, as a former celestial being, his knowledge of the numbers system is fairly vast).  He wants to talk until he runs out of breath, runs out of adjectives, but suddenly all words die in his throat as Dean takes a careful step forward.  And Cas may not have had an understanding of personal space when he first began spending time with the Winchesters, but he knows he is not mistaken when he decides that Dean is standing much too close.

But he doesn't back away.  The cords that tie them together have always been stronger than Cas can resist so he allows that familiar gravity to pull him in, and then they're standing so close that he feels Dean's chest brush his own on the inhale.  He wonders what Dean sees in his expression that makes his green eyes burst to life, something blazing in them that floods Cas with a different kind of heat altogether.

The air in the attic is stifling and when Dean's hand reaches out and brushes fingertips so lightly against the back of Cas' hand, he's certain it's gotten ten degrees warmer.

"Cas."

The sound of the front door slamming shut is loud enough that it jerks them apart and then a young male voice is yelling inaudible things from the bottom floor.  The door opens and shuts again before Cas finds the courage to meet Dean's gaze, and he's stunned when he sees no shame or embarrassment reflecting back at him, only wry amusement coupled with what might be annoyance at the interruption.  But he's not sure.

Someone begins thundering up the stairs to the attic, and the door is thrown open with the same vengeance as the front door. was  It's a young male, around eleven, with blond hair and furious, blue eyes, and if Cas' memory serves him - which it always does - this would be:

"Wyatt Halliwell," Cas greets.  He's never met any of Piper's children, for obvious reasons, but he knows enough of the family to know that Wyatt is the oldest son, then Chris, who is a little more than a year younger, and there's a daughter, Melinda, as well.

Wyatt glances at Cas, then at Dean.  "You guys innocents," he inquires, and whatever ire he was carrying before fades slightly.

"Yes.  I am Castiel, and this is my friend, Dean."  He holds out a hand, which the child shakes, before nodding to the chalk outline drawn on the floor.  "Dean's brother, Sam, is searching for Death with Billie."

"Oh."  Wyatt shrugs.  "Okay.  Well, I just need the Book anyway."  He moves around them and to the Book of Shadows, and begins flipping through the ancient pages with determination.  Just as he reaches whatever spell he is looking for, Piper steps inside the attic too, a man approximately her own age with blond hair that perfectly matches the boy's following behind.

She sends an apologetic smile at Dean, who has been watching the entire scene unfold with his eyebrows somewhere up by his hairline, then approaches her son carefully.  "Wyatt, let's go to your room.  We'd like to talk to you, please."

The walls fly back up around Wyatt, and he shakes his head, refusing to meet his mother's gaze.  "Chris is such a tattletale," he complains before pressing his lips together into a tight line.  "I really don't want to talk about it."

The man - Leo, he recognizes - shifts eyes to Cas, giving a genuine, warm smile of acknowledgement, then turns back to his son, whose feet are planted defiantly on the ground, and sighs.  "All Chris said was that you got into a fight, and Jake's in my Potion Making class.  I would have heard that much on my own."

Wyatt lets out a rush of frustrated breath, and looks up at the ceiling.  "Nothing.  Jake's a jerk.  So I hit him."

Piper reaches out, and brushes hair from Wyatt's eyes.  "Why don't you just tell us what happened?  Preferably _before_ you . . ."  She eyes the book.  "Try to vanquish him.  Probably be overkill."  Then she grins self-deprecatingly, and nudges her son with her hip.  "Get it?  Over _kill_?"

It works.  Wyatt's lips tug reluctantly upwards, and he rolls his eyes.  " _Mom._ "

Dean catches Cas' gaze and nods towards the door, a motion Castiel has come to recognize as _This is a moment that requires privacy, so we need to leave._ Just as he goes to take a step, however, there's a shuffle of movement, and Billie and Sam reappear among their mist.

"Sam."  Dean breathes a sigh of relief, then crosses the room to yank his brother up.  "Took you long enough," he snaps.

But Sam knows where the frustration is coming from, and doesn't comment on the outburst.  "Death resurrected Adam," he says.  Out of the corner of his eye, Cas watches Piper and her husband flinch.  Apparently Piper has filled him in.

"Wyatt, will you please go get Phoebe and Paige," Piper quietly requests.  "They should be in the kitchen."

Wyatt nods and heads for the door without protest, and when her sisters return a minute later, Piper turns back to the new arrivals.  "So, what happened?"

Sam and Billie immediately launch into brief recap of their conversation with Death, and with each word Cas feel fresh panic crash down over him.  They now have the answer to Adam's escape from the Cage, but why would Death do such a thing?  It doesn't make any sense, and if there's one thing that Death has remained through their many run-ins with him, it is rational.  And what does Lucifer being in the Cage have to do with their current predicament?  And how does the witch that cursed Dean fit into it all?

"So."  Dean glances around quickly.  "What now?"

Paige sighs.  "We could try a round of scrying," she suggests, though her expression gives a clear indication as to how much faith she has in _that_ idea.

"Maybe I could mix some sort of potion," Billie throws out, but Piper is already shaking her head.

"Look," she begins, looking at each of them in turn.  "What we really need to do is take a breather.  Paige, Phoebe, you both need to go home for a few hours.  See your families, get some sleep.  The guys can stay here.  Dean will still be an angel tomorrow, and I think we've proven over the years that trying to force a solution doesn't work."

"We're not abandoning you," Phoebe answers firmly.  "That's not an option."

"I'll stay," Billie volunteers.  "Two adult witches, three pint-sized magic users, a brand new angel, and two former angels-"

("I was never technically an angel," Leo interrupts.)

("Dean's not an angel," Cas adds.)

"I think we can handle it."

Phoebe's lips twist into a small smile.  "You sure you don't mind," she asks.  Cas is pretty sure he detects irony in her tone.

"I'm sure."

"See," Piper says brightly.  "Plenty of backup here.  We'll be fine."

Paige and Phoebe share similar looks of uncertainty, but ultimately sigh in unison, and say their goodbyes to the group.  Paige exits the room first, but Phoebe stays behind, a flicker of an inner debate crossing across her features.  "Sam, can you walk me out," she finally asks.

Sam shrugs.  "Sure."

Together they walk out of the room, and just before door closes behind them, Cas hears Phoebe's words:

"We need to talk."


	5. Chapter 5

"We need to talk," Phoebe says to him as the attic door swings shut and they begin to slowly descend the stairs.

Sam glances over and tries not to panic.  The witch looks very serious, her eyes tight and her lips pressed into a thin line, and he's suddenly worried that he's about to get a stern talking to from Billie's surrogate older sister.  Which doesn't really seem fair, since hasn't even done anything yet, but he guesses that's where the whole empath thing comes into play.  "Okay."  His voice doesn't shake, which is a surprise.

They reach the first landing, the second floor of the house, where all of the bedrooms are, before Phoebe drags in a breath and continues.  "It's about Dean.  And Castiel."

"Oh."  Sam blinks.  This is pretty much the last thing he expected her to say.  "What about them?"

Phoebe studies him carefully, her face reflecting some kind of internal indecision, then she sighs.  "Look, there's something we haven't told you.  I'm sorry, but when you - we learned the hard way not to show our hand too early."  She clears her throat, shakes her head, starts again.  "I had a premonition that you guys were coming.  It's why we were expecting you."

Sam stares back blankly, then, slowly, the gears in his mind begin to turn.  She looks calm, her hands are steady, but now he registers a measure of apprehension in her eyes that makes his stomach clench.  "What was your premonition of?"

"It was - well, now that I know who you are - it was of Dean, you, and me.  We were in the attic, looking through the Book of Shadows for information about angels."  She pauses.  "I think Castiel was hurt."

"What do you mean, 'hurt?'"

"I'm not sure."  She quickly and succinctly describes the scene she dreamed, and Sam tries to think through the worry building around his own heart.

Adam may not have made an appearance but it doesn't take much guesswork to figure out he's the one that killed ( _Killed, really?_ And they thought they were supposed to be worrying about Dean _._ ) Cas.  But how?  And so much more importantly, what are they supposed to do about it?

"I wasn't sure if you would want us to tell Dean."  A small grin flashes across her face and when her gaze meets his, he catches a glimmer of mischief there.  "You know, considering."

Alarms blare in his head, and he inwardly flinches.  He knows what she is intimating and it isn't exactly news to him, but, though Dean may be his big brother and his best friend, he's never really been the kind of guy to be all that specific about his feelings.  Sam knows Dean loves him, and he knows Dean loves Cas, and he knows that there's a big difference between the two, but this has never been a subject that Sam can broach.  Dean has to come to him when he's ready.  And while, yes, there are days when Sam kind of wants to bang his head against a wall out of sheer _Both of you are driving me crazy thanks to your epic love that has become this giant elephant in the room_ , well, that just proves that he is that great of a brother.  Dean doesn't deserve him.

So he decides to play it safe and shrug innocently.

Phoebe flips her eyes up.  "Kid, I'm an empath.  Noncommittal answers don't really work on me."

"Okay, I don't know what you want me to say here," he hisses back.

"Nothing," she answers.  "Look, I just wanted to tell you about my premonition, and you can decide what to do about it, but I think you should know that we're running out of time.  It's supposed to happen tomorrow."  She gives him a real smile.  "I don't want to scare you, Sam.  I know it looks really bleak right now, but I'm sure it will all work out in the end, probably in the middle of a big moment of self-discovery."  She shrugs.  "Seems to be the process with us."

Sam grins.  "Yeah, us too."

 

The rest of the evening passes in relative peace.  Dean, Cas, and Sam meet Piper and Leo's other two children: Chris, a ten year old with a sliver of sarcastic attitude and their daughter, Melinda, who spends most of dinner trying a variety of tactics on Cas to see if she can make him laugh.  (It takes fifteen minutes before she's successful, but in the meantime she's giggling so hard at his blank stares of bewilderment that it hardly matters.)

Dean didn't get a chance to learn much about Piper's husband before dinner, and he finds himself listening intently to the stories about World War II and his early years as a Whitelighter, as Billie and Sam talk in hush tones about things Dean can only assume are related to the role of nuclear physics in a projection power or something.  And when Piper brings out a made-from-scratch apple pie for desert, he almost weeps.

It's after eleven before conversation dies down, and Piper starts assigning sleeping arrangements.  She offers Sam the couch in the conservatory, but it takes only one look before they see the problem with that idea, and she ends up laying blankets along the floor of the living room for Cas and Sam instead.  Dean takes the couch, mostly because, as Sam pointed out, he won't be needing actual sleep.  Billie bunks with an already asleep Melinda, and as Piper and Leo go up the stairs to their room, and the three men settle into their makeshift beds, Dean's hit with a realization that nearly knocks him over.

Piper and Leo have a house.  Three school-age children, all of which attend classes at something Cas described to him as a "magic school" of sorts, where Leo teaches full time, and Piper owns a club.  She has sisters with husbands and children and jobs of their own, and, oh, by the way, they fight evil on a daily basis.  It's impossible, an idea he discarded at an early age, but somehow, this peculiar family is finding a way to juggle normal lives amid killing demons.

He always thought, if Timing would stop being such a _bitch_ , if he and Cas could find a tiny corner of happiness somewhere in all the ugly, that it would be the two of them, Sam, maybe, always on the road, a different motel every night.  No Christmas tree.  No over priced blender (because Cas would be the kind of guy that would probably require a stupid energy drink every day once Sam could get him alone and extol their virtues).  No private bedroom, a place to be their own, full of books on weird languages most of the world has never even heard of.

Then he and Sam had found a home in the Batcave, and still he hadn't allowed himself to believe that they were capable of any degree of normalcy.  Because never, in all of Dean's life, has he seen anything like what the Halliwells have created, and at the end of the day, Dean is just a regular hunter, nothing special, so why should he be able to achieve something no other hunter has ever been able to achieve?  But listening to Leo describe magic school, the kids that he teaches, almost sounds like Piper and Leo are not such a rarity.

"It's hard," Leo had said when Dean couldn't stop himself from asking how they manage to do it all.  "And, I mean, we do fight for it, every single day.  But to Piper and me, family is the most important thing.  It's what makes all the other stuff worth it."

He shifts on the couch and wastes some time listening to the sound of Cas and his brother's steady breathing in the other room. and though he doesn't sleep, his thoughts drift.  And by the time a shuffling sound yanks him to full alert, he can't be sure of how much time has passed.  A couple of hours, he would guess.

Every muscle in his body tenses, until a soft, familiar voice joins the sound.

"Castiel!  You scared me."

"I apologize," Cas' deep voice rumbles back at Leo.  "Dean's often told me that it is impolite to skulk in the dark, but I didn't think anyone else would be awake at two in the morning."

Their voices are coming from the dining room, which is, Dean discovers in annoyance, out of his viewing range.

"It's okay."  A beat, and then Leo gently continues, "Can't sleep either?"

Cas sighs with such sadness that Dean's stomach twists.  "I find it difficult sometimes," he admits quietly, and Dean can't help the huff of frustration that escapes him.  He _told_ Cas, when he first became human, that he could come to Dean about this kind of stuff.  That it's nothing to be ashamed of.  "If I may ask, was that how it was for you?  When you first fell?"

Leo's silent for a moment.  "Yeah, it was."  The soft scrapping of chairs tells Dean that the pair is taking a seat at the table.  "You know, angels, Whitelighters, archangels, Elders.  We've all seen a lot."

" _Done_ a lot," Cas adds, so quietly that even Dean, with his angelic superpowers almost misses it.  "I've done things-"

"Cas," Leo cuts him off, and it's the first time someone from this family has called his friend by his Dean-given nickname, and somehow he feels a rush of both affection and jealousy.  "I heard about what happened, with the souls and Purgatory.  The angels.  And no one is perfect."

"I almost destroyed everything."

_Jesus, Cas._

"And we created a utopia, and accidentally annihilated free will.  Being where we are, in the dead center of it all, our mistakes are going to be a lot bigger than anyone else's.  It's something that we've all had to learn, at some point."  There's another moment of total silence, and just as Dean is contemplating the advisability of sneaking into the dining room to see what is going on, Leo suddenly adds, "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you talk to your friends about this stuff?  You seem pretty close."

Dean resolves to give Leo a huge hug when this is all over.

Cas sighs again, and when he speaks there's a heaviness to his tone that Dean hasn't ever heard before.  Not when he and Sam failed to stop Lucifer's rising, not when Joshua told them God had thrown in the towel.  Never.  "Sam and Dean are my family.  Every day I feel . . . so lucky to have them, to call them family.  And I worry that if I were to tell Dean - I don't want him to think I regret what happened.  Metatron may have been the one to cause me to fall, but I am glad it happened.  And I don't want to give him cause to revisit the emotions he felt back then.  It was one of the most difficult times our friendship ever faced."

"He can handle it."

"You say that as if you know for certain."  And maybe Cas is smiling a little.

"What I know is that anyone can see that the three of you are right together.  It's easy to see you've crafted a family there, and believe me, I speak from experience when I say that families forgive even the biggest mistakes.  Completely forgive."

"You've gotten soft in your old age."  To Dean's immense relief, Cas sounds like he's full on grinning,

"Back at ya, grandpa," Leo throws back.  He pauses, then says, more seriously, "Are you alright?"

"Yes.  Thank you for talking with me.  I'll consider your advice."

"No problem."

They push out their chairs, and eventually Dean hears Leo climb back up the stairs, and Cas return to his place on the floor.

If he's honest with himself, he suspected something like this was going to come up.  The Castiel he met in 2014 had been far from pleased about the state of his mortality, and something told Dean that his Castiel just couldn't be adjusting as easily as he insisted.  Not when, as the drugged up version had stated, "I used to belong to a much better club."

Dean lies awake for a long time, and though he's been trying so hard to avoid allowing his thoughts to go in that direction, he finds himself thinking about his and Castiel's last moment alone in the attic.  He's sure he didn't imagine the heat in the bright blue eyes, the way Cas' breath hitched in his throat.  And suddenly he's on his feet.

He wants that, he realizes, and it's so simple, so obvious, that he feels like he's been doused with ice water.  It doesn't matter what Cas has done, or how long it took Dean to get here, to this moment - when Adam has been defeated, and Dean has officially been de-angeled, he's going to ensure that he and Cas finish what they started in the attic.

But for that to happen, and for them to come out on the other side intact, Dean is going to have to become the best angel this world has ever seen.  So he sneaks out the back of the Halliwell manor, and steps out into the large back yard.

 

Castiel isn't sure what wakes him the second time.

It isn't another nightmare, which is a relief.  One per night is plenty, and the visions themselves are not the only problem.  It's the terror that accompanies them, that sometimes takes hours to completely dissipate.  He waits silently in the darkness, and then he hears a soft, male voice explode from the behind the house, letting out a string of cursing that would embarrass even the most hardened of sailors (not that Cas has any idea why sailors' language has a reputation for being particularly vile, but it's an "expression," apparently).

Cas is on his feet and slipping out the back door before he even realizes he's moving.

The night air is cool, crisp, but not terribly uncomfortable, and the sky is clear of any clouds.  The stars are all out tonight, visible from Earth, and it's with their aid and the light reflecting off the moon, that his eyes immediately find the man that disturbed his sleep.

Dean is standing in the middle of the yard, his arms extended out on both of his sides, and he's flapping them up and down in some sort of bizarre impersonation of a bird.  As Cas draws nearer, his arms fall back loosely to his sides and he suddenly looks caught.

"Look, I don't want to fight," he warns when Cas stops in front of him.

Cas raises his eyebrows and tilts his head in confusion.  "Are we going to?"

"I don't know.  You gonna go apeshit when I tell you that I'm out here trying to learn to use my angel powers?"

He's not surprised.  He learned pretty early that Dean Winchester is not one to blindly follow instructions when he thinks he has a superior plan.  The fact that he's abstained the last two days is really an accomplishment all on its own.

Dean is staring at him, his jaw clenched defensively, his shoulders squared as if preparing for an onslaught of the arguments that have become Cas' mantra since the witch cast the spell, but he doesn't need to worry.  Cas simply sighs, before saying, "I'll hep you."

Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously.  "You're going to help me?"

"Yes."

"I thought you were so worried about me burning up the Grace, or whatever?"

Cas shrugs, a habit he's sure he picked up from the Winchesters at some point.  "Right now I'm more worried about you accidentally flying through the conservatory windows."  He can't help but meet Dean's eyes, which are softening around the edges.  "I want you to be safe," he adds.  "And since it is apparently against your genetic make up to listen to anything other than your own plans and decisions, you really don't leave me any choice."

Dean grins.  "Glad to see you're coming around to my side of things."

Cas doesn't comment.  "I assume you were attempting to . . . fly."  Dean shoots him a look that means, _Yes, this is obvious enough that it doesn't need commentary_ , so he leans back to study his friend.  Cas has seen thousands of different angel wings throughout his existence, but somehow it feels strangely intimate when he takes a step that brings him so close to Dean that he can feel his body heat radiating through his clothes, and gently turns him so that his back is to Cas.

"The first thing you need to learn is to control your wings," he begins, and he's not sure why his voice comes out so deep.

"Yeah, Cas, I kinda figured."  But Dean's voice sounds a little different as well, so maybe Cas isn't imagining the intimacy after all.

He swallows hard, determinedly ignoring the sweat that is building at the hollow of his neck, and takes his right index finger, running it from Dean's shoulder blade to the bottom of his back, where he knows the man's right wing is tucked.

The effect is instantaneous.  Dean sucks in a breath, stiffening, but not before there's a soft flutter in the air that Cas knows from experience is the sound of a single wing stretching out.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Cas," Dean gasps, and he would chastise the blasphemy, but he knows why Dean is so taken aback.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, feeling a spread of heat travel from his face to his neck.  "But there isn't really another way to harness them when it's the first time.  Commanding muscles you aren't aware exist is no easy thing."

"It's okay."  Dean shivers.  "It didn't exactly feel _bad_."

"Yes.  Angel wings are very sensitive."  He pauses.  "Can you command the wing we just unfurled?"

A long moment, then Dean whistles low.  "Dude.  They're fucking _gold_."

"They are?"  Cas can't help the wistful note in his voice because of _course_ Dean Winchester's wings would be gold.  Never in Castiel's existence has he encountered such an unblemished, humble soul and, honestly, Dean has always put the Host of Heaven to shame anyway.  He's absolutely certain his wings are breathtaking.

Dean glances over his shoulder and the grin there is so beautiful that it almost shocks Cas, how strong the urge is to press his lips it.  "I gotta say, there are parts about this that aren't half-bad."

"Yes," Cas agrees, with a shaky exhale.  His breath sweeps across Dean's neck and this time he's sure of it - something between them shifts, leaving him buzzing with a heat that spreads through his gut.  Suddenly he's wondering if this is such a good idea; the darkness that surrounds them, the feeling of isolation that it provides, leaves him feeling, paradoxically, exposed, like he cannot trust even himself to keep silent about this Truth he's been hiding from Dean.  The Truth that has always been there, just under the surface, the Truth that alters the meaning behind every single warning, every moment of protectiveness he feels for his friend.  Instinctively he snaps his mouth shut and the hand that moved to Dean's left shoulder blade stills in midair.

" _Cas_ ," Dean murmurs a moment later, though it doesn't feel like impatience that's dotting his tone, but something else entirely.  And that something makes Castiel's hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.

He can't speak.  He knows enough to know that this is one of those instances that he's seen in movies where too much can be derived from anything he could say, so he distracts Dean and himself by forcing all thought from his brain, and repeating the motion of locating Dean's other wing.  The air displaces, confusing Cas' very human eyes, so he lowers them and steps back.

It used to be easier.  Before meeting Dean, Castiel had never been in love, could never have guessed that angels even had the capacity for it.  Soldiers crafted in their Father's workshop, they were supposed to fight Heaven's enemies, and show mercy and love for God's people, but it was never supposed to go further than that  There had been whispers, at one point, of another angel who had loved a human in the way that humans loved each other, but it was spoken of with such a level of disgust that he had never inquired too much about it, committing the tones of his brethren to mind, understanding that this was one of those things Angels Aren't Supposed to Talk About.  So it had taken years of being in the constant company of the Winchesters before he realized what had happened, how to name what he was feeling when Dean clapped a hand on his back, saying he hadn't laughed so hard in years, or when he threw Cas that bottle of pills and commiserated about the hardship of "deadbeat dads."  And he might never have identified the love there, if it hadn't been for the one thing that had almost torn it totally apart.

He'd been standing in a circle of holy water as he watched the trust in Dean's eyes dim to almost nothing, and he'd felt such loss, unlike anything before, as though he had shoved his own hand into his chest and yanked out his Grace.  It was like losing himself, and in spite of the centuries of life behind him, he had never been so scared, so tortured with loneliness.  And thanks to what Dean had called "Bible camp," Castiel knows torture better than most.

It was love, soul crushing, heartbreaking, utterly hopeless love, and when he and Dean had finally reunited, after months of separation and weeks of insanity, standing together in Purgatory's purity, he had been dumbstruck by how thoroughly he had missed it.  And though he knew he would never have been worthy of love from such a beautiful, wonderful, giving soul, he would have offered his puny heart to Dean, if for no other reason than the knowledge that this man hadn't heard those words enough, but he had known what he was risking when he made the deal with Crowley and Dean deserves someone who has never shattered his trust.

So he knows, he does, that burdening Dean with his feelings now would do nothing but upset this friendship that has grown into something better than they ever had before, and thus, makes such a declaration completely outside the table (or whatever that expression is), but he's finding that hard to remember when Dean turns and is still so close he can feel his chest brush when he exhales.

He can barely breathe with Dean standing so close, so he drops his eyes.  Then, without warning, Dean reaches out, and catches his chin with the pads of his fingertips, and gently raises it until their gazes meet.  "Cas," he says quietly.  He takes a breath.  "Cas, you know you can tell me anything, right?"

That's a complex question.  There is, admittedly, not a single being in the entire universe that he trusts as much as he trusts Dean, but he can't ignore the fact that he was just sitting at the Halliwell's dining room table, detailing to Leo all the times and reasons that he's kept mum up until this point.  They've all been living in the Batcave together, so it's nothing short of a miracle that neither brother has woken up to his shouts in the middle of the night, and he could continue pretending that everything is just fine, because if nothing else, the Winchesters have earned a good night's rest.  Leo's words, however, dance their reminder in his brain. _He can handle it._

"I've been having nightmares," he finds himself admitting, before he can lose his nerve.  His voice is impossibly small.  "Since becoming human.  It's . . .  They're very frightening."

Dean's silent for a moment, concern dripping from his expression.  "Cas, you should have said something.  Sammy and I have been to Hell.  If anyone can understand horror-induced sleep deprivation, it's us."  He sighs, then moves his hand from Castiel's face, to his shoulder, and gives it a sympathetic squeeze.  "Look, I get that you and Sam aren't best friends or whatever, but I know he considers you family."

"That's how I feel about the both of you," Castiel whispers.

"Good," Dean says firmly.  "Then you should talk to me."  He grins, gently nudges Cas with his shoulder.  "We're the ones with the profound bond, right?"

The sincerity in Dean's voice makes Castiel ache, and before he fully realizes what's happening, he's talking.  He tells Dean about his first nightmare, that first night at home.  About dreaming that the Leviathans were possessing him and using his body to torture Dean while he was forced to watch.  How Dean's green eyes never stopped silently begging for help, and how he'd woken in his room, sweating and crying, unable to return to sleep until he had peered into each Winchester's room to make sure they were both alright.  How he hadn't found the strength to face the solitude of his bedroom, preferring to spend the rest of the evening dozing in a chair in the brightly lit library.  He tells Dean about the one he had before they left for California, though he's so ashamed by the content that it takes Dean's determined, firm reassurance that he won't think any less of him for it before he finds his voice.

"Zachariah was back."  He swallows hard, turns away.  He suddenly can't look Dean in the eye.  "He convinced me to turn my back on you and Sam.  I returned to Heaven with the angels."  Silence falls again, and truth be told he's rarely been so disgusted with himself in his long, long life.

"Cas," Dean says.  He sounds weary, but unyielding, and Cas will always be a little powerless when it comes to Dean Winchester.  He braces himself for whatever is to come, and forces his eyes back to Dean's face.

He thinks that maybe he expects to see anger.  Disappointment that after all this time, Castiel still cannot be trusted to do the right thing, to stand up to Heaven.  That Castiel's last stand had taken the rest of his resolve, and that it's easy to see just how big a liability he's become.  What he actually does see is compassion.  Limitless, boundless compassion, with a little bit of something else mixed in.  "Cas, I want you to listen to me, and listen as good as you ever have, okay?"

Cas nods.

"I know you," he says firmly, reminding Castiel of a darkened crypt and an ancient tablet.  "I know you better than anyone.  And I swear to God that if you ever repeat this to Sam I will probably be forced to kill you myself, but Cas.  You're one of the bravest men I've ever known."

He doesn't even realize that he's shaking his head until Dean catches it between his hands, slotting his palms onto each side.  "Dude, I'm serious."

"I'm not brave," Cas insists, though it's hard to think straight with hands so warm and steady holding him in place.  "I've given into fear so many times."

Dean rolls his eyes.  He actually rolls his eyes.  "Cas, that's a load of shit, and you know it.  How many scared-y cat friends do I have on my Rolodex?  A big, fat zero.  You think your buddy Zachariah could have pulled that crazy Enochian banishing sigil shit in the green room like you did?  Or, you know, held off an angel that majorly outclassed him thanks to a few chosen words by a high school dropout?  Or busting out the big guns to send Michael away just so I could have a few minutes with my brother and Satan?  Cas, dude, you're fucking badass, "

He pauses, turns Dean's words over in his mind and tries to see their friendship, himself, the way Dean does, but then Dean oh-so-lightly traces a thumb from his temple to his jaw and all brain activity shuts down, until the warm hands fall back to the sides of their owner.

"Okay, so that's enough brooding for now," Dean says a little cheerier than is probably warranted, but Cas doesn't care since he's feeling a little light-headed himself.  "Any more questions before we get back to business?"  He clears his throat.  "Flying, I mean."

Cas tilts his head.  "Yes.  What's a Rolodex?"

 

The sky is turning a light grey when Sam steps out into the back yard in search of his brother and Castiel.  He ran into Piper a few minutes before, who said she would be yelling for them for breakfast shortly, and already the aroma of sizzling bacon reaches the patio, where he takes a seat.  Dean and Cas are several yards away, playing a game that resembles Hide and Seek, with Castiel darting behind trees and bushes - pretty fast for a full-blown mortal - and Dean appearing behind him after a few seconds each time.  After several minutes Dean starts to really improve, Cas barely getting into position before Dean's behind him, ruffling his hair, berating him for his "seriously lackluster hiding, Cas, Jesus, weren't you a solider?"  (Castiel had thrown a rock with impressive accuracy in the general direction of Dean's head at this comment, only missing because of Dean's epic angel powers.)

"I wasn't sure how you take your coffee," comes a soft, female voice from behind him, and Sam looks up to see Billie standing over him holding two white mugs.  "So I went with black."

He takes the mug she offers him with a grateful smile.  "Black's fine."  He raises the drink to his lips and nods when the liquid hits his throat.  "This is pretty good."

Billie grins.  "Piper's been making the coffee for the household since long before I knew them.  Prue times, I think."  She settles into the chair beside him, her eyes immediately going to Dean and Cas.  "What are they doing," she asks, chuckling with amusement when Dean pops into existence over Castiel, his feet planted on his friend's shoulders as Cas tries fruitlessly to bat him off.

"I think Dean's learning to use his angel mojo," Sam answers.  He laughs himself when, still unable to dislodge Dean, Cas grabs a large stick and swings it up towards an area of Dean's body that Sam is pretty sure would still hurt like a bitch, regardless of the power he's packing.  Dean vanishes and reappears on the ground in front of Cas.

"You know, Cas, you could have aimed for an arm."

"I could have," Cas concedes, "Though, in all the years I was your angel, I managed to avoid perching on your shoulder, and the very day you start using your powers that's one of the first things you feel the need to do.  It's annoying."

" _You're_ annoying."

"These guys are just friends," Billie questions Sam, arching her eyebrows.

Sam shrugs as Dean throws his head back and laughs, loud and relaxed.  "I never said that."


	6. Chapter 6

"So, not just friendship," Billie asks, not a single shade of surprise coloring her voice.  He shoots her a questioning eyebrow-raise, and she smiles.  "Yeah, Phoebe's great, she's my best friend, but she's not so good at the secret keeping."

Sam rolls his eyes.  "Well, that's just great."

"If it helps, she didn't say anything I couldn't have guessed anyway," she assures him.  "They don't really act like brothers."

Sam has nothing to say to that, so he turns back to Dean and Cas, who have abandoned the game, and are now standing together, far enough away that they're totally out of earshot, but even at the distance Sam can see that they're deep in conversation.  He thinks about Phoebe's warning and allows his thoughts to return to the inner debate he's been having since the night before.  He's not sure why hasn't told Dean about the premonition, except that he's a little scared of what his brother's reaction is going to be.  And he has to say something, he knows that, he does, because being tight lipped in a job like this has never worked for them in the past.  It's just nice to see the two of them outside, relaxed and smiling.  He tries to imagine going over there and ruining it, and no matter how many different ways he arranges the words, it's going to be an ugly scene.

"Let me guess," Billie says, after another long minute passes.  "You're wondering whether or not you should tell Dean over there about Phoebe's premonition?"  Off his incredulous laugh, she grins and throws up her hands.  "That's it, I swear I'm done.  But you couldn't really think Phoebe wouldn't tell us about _that_?  It's how we knew you were coming."

Sam nods, taking another sip of coffee.  "I know.  I'm just worried about Cas.  I don't mean to take it out on you."

"It's okay."  She breathes out slowly, and he's surprised by the rush of emotion that thickens her voice when she adds, "We've all been there."  She pauses before glancing over.  "I'm sure you probably heard about their sister, Prue."

"Cas told us."  He sighs not bothering to hide the frustration that he feels.  Cas is hours away from being at death's door, Adam has taken over the role of Lead Villain, and a family that has already lost one sister is in danger just by the Winchesters continued presence.  "Sometimes this job really sucks."

Billie studies him carefully, then drops her gaze.  She's torn, it's obvious, but then her face clears, and becomes more open than he's seen since they arrived.  "I . . . I had a sister too," she finally says softly, her eyes never leaving the ground.  He blinks in surprise but remains silent.  "Her name was Christy.  We were, I mean, pretty close, I guess.  As kids, anyway.  But one night she was kidnapped from our bedroom by demons and raised to become this.  This, like, weapon for evil."  She presses her lips into a thin line, crossing her legs and tightening her grip on her coffee.  Her gaze shifts back to Dean and Cas.  "You're right about the job," she continues.  "I mean, I had to vanquish my own sister."

It's so surreal, so familiar, that he feels words building in his throat and they're propelling forward before he can help himself.  "I'm sorry."  He reaches out and lays a hand over her's.  "And bizarrely enough, I kind of know what you're going through.  There was a long time when it looked like Dean might have to kill me."  Her eyebrows go up, and suddenly he's telling her everything, from his death to Dean's deal, to his role in the apocalypse that never was.  The entire time Billie says nothing, taking in his words, listening carefully to the tale.

It's more than he would normally share, but the truth is that it's becoming this incredibly easy thing, to talk to someone that's been through something similar to him and Dean and Cas, and though he runs across other hunters pretty regularly these days, there's always been a kind of darkness that surrounded their camaraderie.  People who had never known monsters existed, thrown into the life because of the loss of a loved one, revenge-driven and grieving.  For the longest time, with the exception of Garth, Bobby was the most optimistic hunter he'd ever known, and looking back, well, that's not saying a whole hell of a lot.  But Billie, with her so blond hair and clear, bright eyes was born into this world, lost her sister as a kid then had to kill her herself, and yet she's still sitting out here in this sun looking so beautiful, and whole, and not broken that he can't help wanting to spend hours, days, months at her side.

When he finishes his story he doesn't move except to lower his head in shame and he waits for her to spew furious accusations that he's heard countless times before, or, worse still, lower her voice with pity.  Instead he feels a gentle, soothing hand catch his chin and raise it back up so that their eyes meet.  She's giving him a smile of such understanding that his stomach clenches.  "Hey," she says.  And suddenly she's leaning forward and brushing their lips together so lightly that the jolt of electricity that spikes down his spine is a bit of a surprise.  When she pulls back she doesn't even look embarrassed, which he thinks makes him like her more.  "I'm not very good with words," she teases, by way of explanation.

He can't help grinning back at her.  "You were an English major," he reminds her but that doesn't stop him reaching out to take her hand, and threading their fingers together.  In just a couple of days he'll be gone, driving with his brother and Cas to some haunting in Fort Mill, South Carolina, or a demon possession in Colorado and it won't work with Billie, but for now the flush spreading across her fair skin is enough.

Piper's voice yells for them from inside the house, and as Sam and Billie get to their feet the manor erupts with noise.  Feet pounding down the staircase, plates clattering onto the dining room table, a little girl yelling that "Chris is threatening to bind my powers!"  ("Am not!"  "Are too!"  "Am not!")  He calls to Cas and Dean, then, just before they enter the kitchen, Billie pitches her voice low and murmurs, "Why don't you just tell Castiel?"

He glances quickly over his shoulder, watching Dean give Cas an enthusiastic rundown of what it felt like to fly across the yard, how huge his wings are, and is agreeing before he realizes what's happening.  "You know what, I think that's what I'm going to do."

Breakfast is every bit as delicious as dinner was the night before, and when Piper brings out some of the best tasting bacon he's ever had, Sam's pretty sure Dean's going to put up a hell of a fight when he's back to his mortal self and it's time for them to leave.  In the meantime, Dean shamelessly praises the woman's cooking until Leo snaps flat out that no matter how much he's willing to offer, Piper is unable to take up residency at the Bunker as their new full-time chef and Sam, for his part, spends the meal dividing his attention between trying not to grin all tellingly when Billie's fingers pretty intentionally bump against his own as she passes him the butter, and widening his eyes at Cas from across the table, in an attempt to indicate that he'd like a moment alone with the former-angel.  (Cas, of course, doesn't notice at all, as he's busy telling Leo a few of war stories of his own, while Dean jealously picks at his napkin and shoots general brooding looks at anyone who attempts to draw him into conversation.  Sam barely resists the temptation to remind his brother in front of everyone at the table that he can't really be Cas' only friend for the rest of eternity in an effort to get the dark glare off his brother's face.)

When everyone's finished eating, Sam sees his opportunity, and volunteers himself and Cas for cleanup, practically yelling at Dean to, "Dude, just sit down, okay?  Cas and I can handle clearing the dining room table!"   Together he and former angel gather the plates and once they're in the kitchen, safely away from everyone's - or, specifically, Dean's - earshot, Sam turns to his friend.  "Cas, I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong, Sam?"

And if Sam were anything but a Winchester, and his life wasn't what it is, it would take him some time to summon the determination to tell his brother's best friend that he's not too long from death, but he doesn't allow himself a moment to second-guess his decision, and goes for the blunt honesty for which Cas has always shown deep appreciation.  "Phoebe had a premonition," he blurts out. "Of you dying."

Cas, to his credit, doesn't argue with the validity of this statement.  "She told you this," he asks instead.

"Yeah.  She cornered me yesterday and told me, and I know I probably should have said something before, but I couldn't decide whether I should tell Dean or not, because you guys were being all normal and playing hide-and-seek which isn't really normal but it's normal enough for the two of you and-"

"Sam," Cas interrupts, his eyes not unkind.  "It's alright  You're rambling."

"Yeah, well," Same hisses back, "I'm worried."

They stand like that, in complete silence, until Cas nods decisively to himself.  "You were right not to tell Dean.  Don't."

Sam stares.  "Don't," he repeats in disbelief.  "Cas, I don't think that's such a good idea."  He really doesn't want to be forced to remind Cas of the trust issues he and Dean have already dealt with in the past because he knows how bad Cas feels about it all, but somehow lying to Dean about something like this does not sit well with him.

But then Cas narrows his eyes to the dangerous slits Sam has come to recognize is his way of saying _Don't fuck with me about this_ but with less cursing.  "Dean cannot afford to be concerned about me when we're supposed to be worrying about _him_.  Phoebe's premonition may come true, it may not.  They don't always.  But Dean _will_ die if we don't find some sort of solution to his predicament."

"So you're saying . . .  What?  We're not doing anything about you at all?"  Cas rolls his eyes, and Sam has to work not to throttle him, because suddenly he's seeing Cas' lifeless body sprawled across the Halliwell's living room, the backyard, the hallway in his mind's eye, and it's pretty damn scary.  "You're so worried about Dean, but what do you think it will do it him if you get killed," he says a little desperately.  And then, before he can stop himself, he adds, "Not to mention that you're my friend too."

Cas' eyes soften and he squeezes Sam's shoulder comfortingly.  "I'll be fine.  I was a solider for a very long time, I can be careful."

Sam wishes that Cas' words would soothe his fears, but when he returns to the dining room he can't meet Dean's eyes.

 

Sam and Cas step back into the room, and Dean immediately knows that something is wrong.  He can't tell if it's his angel mojo sending the alarms, or just how well he knows the other two men, but Sam isn't looking at him, and Cas is keeping his face carefully blank, and Dean really can't believe he didn't know that he should have been listening with his special angel hearing when they left the room.

"We should probably get going," Leo says to Piper, and she smiles and leans in to give him swift kiss, before planting big, embarrassing ones on all three of her children.

"Be good," she tells them.  Then, to Wyatt, "And please don't get into another fight with Jake."

Wyatt nods and turns away, and Dean's pretty sure he's the only who hears the kid mutter, "If he doesn't give me a reason."

Once the front door clicks shut, Piper turns to Billie, Sam, Cas, and Dean, and takes a breath.  "Well, we have an idea about this angel deal," she says. Cas and Sam straighten instantly in their chairs.  "I spoke to Paige this morning, and she suggested that maybe we're focusing on the wrong person here."  She glances at Dean.  "It wasn't Adam that turned you into a angel, it was the witch."

Billie looks up.  "You want to scry for her?"

Piper shakes her head.  "No, I won't think it's a good idea to leave the manor.  We should be here, where our magic is the strongest."  She shoots her friend a look that's so heavy with significance that Dean would have to be an idiot to miss it.

He flips his eyes to Sam and Cas, but they're wearing identical expressions that are too comprehending for Dean's comfort.  "What's going on," he finally demands, unable to keep the frustrated bite from his tone.  It's one thing for the witches to keep secrets - they're a family.  But Sam and Cas are both a part of his own, and he knows them better than he knows himself, and something is definitely off here.

"Cas," Sam says quietly, and _ah ha_!  He was right.

"We can discuss this at a later time," Cas answers, no room for argument in his tone, though it takes all of Dean's self-restraint not to argue that point.  "Piper, so what are you suggesting?  Summoning her to us?"

She nods.  "It'll have to wait a couple of hours though.  Phoebe's on her way so that she'll be here for backup in case your friend Adam shows up again, but Paige had a future Whitelighter she's guiding that needs some help this morning, and I'd really like to have the Power of Three on hand in case things take an ugly turn.  Dean, how are you feeling?"

He shrugs.  "What do you mean?  Do I feel like I'm about to implode or something?"

"Basically, yes."

He takes a mental assessment of his faculties but he seems to be fine so far.  Nothing hurts, his skin hasn't started peeling yet, both of which he considers to be a win.  He tells them as much, and when Cas' shoulders relax just a fraction, he meets his friend's gaze and gives him a small smile.  He's still pissed that they're obviously hiding something, but he can't really pretend like he doesn't know what he would be going through if one of them was radioactive, and Cas -

"Hey."

And suddenly Adam's standing in front of them and they all jump to their feet, Piper's hands flying out in front of her as she prepares to blow him up if necessary, Cas immediately stepping in front of Dean, and Sam pulling Billie behind him.

Dean tries to move around Cas and his friend may be human now but he's still pretty fast, and, evidently, feeling determined, so he's forced to say over Cas' shoulder, "Adam, just tell us what's going on.  Please."

Adam swallows, his eyes flickering quickly across all of their faces and Dean takes this moment to study him a little more carefully.  Whereas before the third "Winchester" had seemed cocky, arrogant, and overall content with whatever diabolical plan he was concocting, now he seems skittish.  Freaked, actually.  He's pale, his eyes are fucking huge, frightened, and when they settle on Billie, of all people, he takes a careful step forward.  "Look," he begins.  "This is not what we signed up for.  It was supposed to be simple - distract you with this spell, do what he asked, and receive a Get Out of Hell Free card."

"Adam," Sam says, and there's a note of panic in his voice that is a little embarrassing, actually.  Dean glances over at him, and is stunned by the naked fear in his brother's eyes.  He's watching Cas, who doesn't look particularly frightened, and something inside Dean lurches when he realizes that there is exactly one thing that would explain their strange actions at breakfast.  He immediately grips Cas' arm with the strength of an angel, and pulls him back right as Adam pulls something from his waist, and even as Cas is forced to move behind him Dean knows, in the back of his mind, that it won't be fast enough.

A shot rings out.

For a moment nothing happens and Dean thinks bizarrely that maybe he imagined it, that Adam didn't just pull a gun on the guy he loves, but then Cas' hand goes to his chest, and when he draws it back it's so covered with blood that the former-angel looks shocked.  "Oh," is what Cas whispers, falling to his knees.

"No," Dean shouts, and he's down by his friend before he registers the desire to move, but Cas' eyes have slipped closed, and he lies motionless on the rug.  "Cas!  _Cas_!"  There's commotion - shouts, a loud explosion, the sound of the front door flying open - but he can't register any of it because Cas' eyes haven't opened.

"What happened," cries a new, female voice, and then Phoebe is on the floor beside him, Sam only seconds behind.

"Adam attacked," he thinks Piper answers.  It's hard to be sure, with his blood pounding so loudly in his ears that he can't even think.  "He shot Castiel."  She pauses, then calls out fearfully, "Paige!"

Out of the corner of his eye he registers Sam yanking Cas' arm towards him, searching desperately for a pulse in the blood splattered wrist, then his eyes shift back to Dean, stricken.  "He's dead."

_No._

He doesn't believe it.  Frantically, he pulls Cas' arm away from his brother, and fights to control his trembling hands long enough to prove Sam wrong.  Because Cas is not dead.  It doesn't matter than his chest isn't rising and falling in rhythmic breathing, and it doesn't matter that Dean's Grace can't feel the warmth of Cas' presence anymore, his very best friend would not _dare_ die on him after everything they've been through, not when they're so fucking close to what has always seemed immeasurably far away.

So he checks one wrist, then the other.  He feels for the pulse point in Cas' neck, lays a hand over Cas' chest where his heart should be beating.  It's not.

The grief, the pure, unadulterated pain that surges over him is strong and unyielding to his desperate, silent pleas of _Nonononofucknopleasenot_ \- and it's so loud that he doesn't even register Billie's words at first.

"Dean," she says again, dropping her knees by Sam,  "You're an angel.  Fix him."

The burst of relief that hits him almost knocks him flat, and suddenly he's nodding and smiling, and murmuring, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," like a litany.  He brushes wisps of hair from Cas' forehead and wills himself to focus, to tune out the hopeful stares of the others. He tries to remember all the stuff Cas said to him an hour before about accessing angel mojo, about the electrical current surging from the buzzing in the pit of his stomach.  He finds strength that has nothing to do with physicality ( _"From within, Dean."  "Dude, it really weirds me out when you go all Morpheus on me, did you know that?"  "Dean-"  "Never mind, forget it."_ ) and catches it, clutches it with an iron grip, and focuses the energy into his index and middle fingers, the way he's seen Cas do countless times, and presses them against Cas' forehead.

Cas doesn't stir, so he tries again, gently cradling Cas' face with the tips of his fingers the way his friend did to him that night in Lucifer's Crypt, but still nothing happens.

Dean swallows hard, then, as carefully as he can, tucks one arm around Cas' back, the other under his knees, and lifts him up, carrying him to the nearby couch.  He lays out the lifeless once-vessel and says to Billie, with words thick with grief, "Watch him, will you?"  He doesn't look over to see if she nods before making his way to the Halliwell's staircase.  Dimly he's aware of Sam and Phoebe's steps following closely behind.

"Dean," Sam begins, his tone heavy with nerves as they pound up the stairs towards the attic.  "What - "

"We're checking the Book," he cuts him off.  "As far as I can tell that's the witches go-to strategy, and right now that thing is best resource we've got.  There has to be something in there to help Cas."  Help me help Cas, is what he means.

Phoebe moves towards the Book, and immediately begins flipping through.  For several minutes neither Winchester moves, but eventually she shakes her head.  "There's nothing here," she says, looking haunted.

Dean glares because anger is so much easier than fear or grief or guilt right now, and he's a fucking angel.  There's no way Cas' is staying dead while Dean's in charge.  "There has to be, dammit" he snaps, ignoring the hysteria in his own voice.  "We are not just going to stand around with blank stares our faces while my best friend is laying on the couch downstairs, dead.  It's not happening."

Phoebe glances up from the book, and Dean's relieved to see the determined, firm line of her mouth.  "We're going to fix this," she promises.

"Look-"

Dean stops his brother with a look.  He gets that Sam is trying to be diplomatic right now, but, seriously, no.  "No, dude.  Forget it.  He tried to kill Cas.  That ends talks."

"We're talking about Adam, here."

"Actually," Dean growls back, "we're talking about Cas, and only Cas, until he's breathing again.  Got it?"

Sam, to his credit, merely nods.

For a moment all three are silent, and panic suddenly swells up so big in Dean that it clogs up his throat.  If there's nothing in the book about harnessing angelic Grace, and there's no spell to help them, he's not sure what they're going to do, and uncertainty is worse than almost anything else.

"How's it going," Piper asks softly as she joins them, stepping further into the attic.

Phoebe meets her gaze and shakes her head.

"Okay, I have a thought," Piper continues, and it might just be the best thing Dean's heard in a long time.  "But Phoebe and I need to talk to Dean alone."

"No," Sam snaps, at the same time Phoebe, using the ingrained skills of a sister, says, " _Oh._ You think that's the problem?"

"Maybe," Piper answers.  But if Dean's being honest with himself, she's looking pretty confident, like there's really no _maybe_ about it.  "Sam, I don't want to be rude, but I'm not sure this is a conversation that Dean will want you to hear."

"So what?  I care about Cas too, and I'm not leaving."  Dean admires Sam's resolve in the face of a witch who has demonstrated the ability to blow shit up with her mind.

Piper lets out a breath in frustration and appeals to her sister, but Dean raises his eyebrows when Phoebe shrugs.  "It's okay," she says.  "I talked to Sam.  It's not going to come as a surprise."

Outvoted, Piper throws up her hands and draws closer to Dean.  "Okay, look," she slowly begins, "several years ago something happened to Leo when he was still our Whitelighter.  He'd been shot by a Darklighter's arrow - which was the only thing that would kill a Whitelighter - and I sort of panicked, since this was before Paige and we didn't have an in-house healer.  One of a Whitelighter's powers is healing.  So I swapped our powers, so I could heal him myself."  Her eyes glaze over, and it's clear she's reliving it now, in front of them.  "But it didn't work."

Dean's head snaps up, his attention focused totally on Piper's next words.

"And it didn't work, because I didn't know what the trigger was."

"The trigger," Sam repeats blankly.  "What do you mean?"

Phoebe's the one that replies, "Ever since we got our powers, they've been tied to our emotions.  Like, when Piper used her power for the first time, fear was the trigger.  She had to be scared to make it work.  Prue's was anger."

"So, what, I have to get pissed off?"

The hesitation before Piper's answer is a little scary, and Dean has to bite back the impatient admonishment that rises to his lips.  "Well, I doubt it.  Because, I mean, of course I can't speak for angels and resurrection, but the Whitelighter trigger for healing is love."

"Love."  Dean stares at each of them in turn, disbelief coloring his tone.  "Like . . .  Love."

Piper locks her eyes on his.  "What were you feeling when you tried to heal your friend?"

Dean shrugs helplessly.  "I don't know.  It was happening so fast-"

"Fear," Phoebe answers for him.  Oh, right, empath.  "A lot of relief because he thought it would work.  Grief when it didn't."

"Do you believe this," he asks Sam, because it sounds almost too easy.

Sam gives him an encouraging smile.  "Yeah, I think I do."

"You love Cas, right," Piper asks gently, resting a hand on his arm.

For all the times Dean has wondered how he would broach the subject to Cas, he's wondered how he would tell his brother.  Oh, it's not that he thinks Sam would actually be angry, or not approve.  And despite his brief defense of Adam, he knows that Sam loves Cas like family, that he'd throw himself on a bomb to save the guy.  It's just . . .  It's hard to think about telling Sam that he hasn't been completely honest with him for a while.

So he turns to Sam, deciding he owes this to him, as eleventh hour as this may be, and sucks in a breath.  "Yeah, so, Sammy.  Here's the deal.  I'm in love with Cas."

 Sam blinks.  "Me too."

" _What_?"

"Dude, I'm kidding."

"Now?  Seriously?  You're joking around _now_?"

"Sorry, I really couldn't resist."  His relaxed grin makes up for it.  "Not to take the wind out of your sails or anything, but I've actually known for a while."

Dean would laugh, if Cas was completely out of danger.  As it is, he shoots him a half-hearted, "Bitch," and looks back over at Piper.  "So, what do I do?'

"Try again."

They make their way back down the stairs, and when they reach the bottom floor, Billie looks up worriedly, though Dean's eyes are only for Cas, barely notices that she's even there.  "Did you think of something?"

"Yes," Phoebe says.  She gently nudges her friend, then Sam, and nods to the kitchen.  "Maybe we should give these guys a little privacy," she suggests, and Dean can't pretend that he isn't relieved when Sam follows the other three into the kitchen without complaint this time.

He stoops down by the sofa where Cas lies, completely motionless, and takes his hand.  "You know," he says softly, brushing his lips against his friend's knuckles.  "This isn't really how I pictured telling you this.  I mean, it doesn't seem like too much to ask that you at least be alive to hear me, the first time.  But I guess we can't have it all."  He swallows the lump in his throat.  "But I do love you."  A small part of him expects Cas to open his eyes at the words, but if love really is a trigger, it's probably the emotion itself, not just words, so he closes his eyes, and lets himself feel it.

_I'm not a . . .  hammer, as you say._

_We're making it up as we go._

_I'm hunted, I rebelled, and I did it, all of it, for you._

_We had an appointment._

_You got what you asked for, Dean.  No paradise.  No hell.  Just more of the same._

_Dean and I do share a more profound bond._

_Much of the time, I'd rather be here._

_I do everything that you ask.  I always come when you call._

_I'm sorry?  Is that a flirtation?_

_Well, I'll go with you.  And I'll do my best._

_You can't save everyone, my friend.  Though you try._

_I've been . . . helping people, Dean._

_I'm so sorry, Dean._

And as the memories pile up, the need ("We need you.  I need you."), the love surrounds him like a warm blanket, and he whispers, "Please let this work," before he gently presses two of his fingers to Cas' forehead.

And this time the effect is instantaneous.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel's eyes flutter open, and he blinks harshly to adjust to the sudden light.  He's lying on a couch in the Halliwell's living room, Dean's face, drawn with fear and pain, looming over him, and panic of his own takes hold.  His friend looks serious, very serious, and for one horrifying second he thinks something has happened to Sam, and he sits up, if slowly.  "Dean," he tries to say, but his throat is so dry, that he chokes on his words, and then suddenly Dean's arms are around him, and he's laughing deliriously, like he's never seen anything so amazing in all his life.

When he pulls away, he reaches for a clear glass of water on a nearby table, and passes it to Cas.  "Drink up," he instructs firmly, though there's no bite in his tone.

Cas doesn't argue, and takes a heavy gulp.  "What's going on," he asks when he's able, returning the water to the table.  "Are you - are you or Sam injured?"

Dean throws his head back and laughs again, bright and loud and his hands fall to Castiel's shoulders.  "Do I _look_ injured to you," he asks and he's so beautiful like this, carefree, relieved.  Smiling so hard he looks like his face is going to crack.

"Maybe in the head," Cas mutters back reflexively, grinning all the same.  "What's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

He narrows his eyes, thinking back, and that's when it hits him.  Adam.  The gun.  "I died," he realizes.

Dean nods, swallowing hard, and then a hand travels to Castiel's neck, cards fingers through the short strands there, and pulls him forward again, until their foreheads rest against each other.  "You really scared the shit out of me, I hope you know," he whispers.  "I thought it was for real this time."

Suddenly all the tumblers fall into place, and he's jerking back to lock Dean's eyes with his own.  "Did you save me," he breathes, because he was an angel for millions of years, so he knows all the ins and outs of resurrection, knows everything it takes to call someone from death.  Few times as there were, Castiel still resurrected more humans than any other angel before him, and he thought of Dean each time.

Dean shrugs, but doesn't turn away.  "What did you think, that I was going to let you die?  Oh, and by the way."  His gaze turns stern, a sliver of vulnerability, masking itself as anger, slipping in.  "Next time I'm given some crazy-ass power that I don't understand and you're explaining it to me?  Make sure it's clearly stated if there's some sort of emotional trigger that is required to bring the people I care about back to life."

"I'll make a note," he replies wryly, but Dean's hands don't move away, and he's staring at him with that dark look, and Cas tries to remember all the reasons that he should let this be the end of it - that he should end the conversation here, while it's still innocent - but none of them come.  "How did you . . .  Find out about the trigger?"

"Piper told me.  She had to do the same thing for Leo once, I guess."

Cas nods, taking that in.  Piper's save of Leo is legendary in angelic circles.  "I forgot about that," he admits, "though it's fortunate there was someone to tell you.  Of course, using Grace to do something that powerful probably cut our time in-"

Dean rolls his eyes.  "Cas," he interrupts impatiently, but the corners of his lips turn up.  "I really, _really_ , don't want to talk about that right now."  A thumb touches his ear and desire washes over him like a wave.

Cas doesn't deserve Dean.  He was a broken angel at best, a traitor at worst and he owes this man who has decided to stand so unwaveringly beside him, so he gathers all the strength that he has and makes one last effort to do the right thing.  "I know you love me, Dean," he says, ignoring the way his voice shakes.  "You shouldn't allow this to influence your view of our friendship."  Because after everything they've been though, the last thing he can handle is Dean deciding Cas has misinterpreted familial bond for something more.

"Oh, for-  _Cas_!"  Dean sighs, a perfect picture of frustration and affection, then, to Castiel's utter astonishment, slips closer, an arm wrapping around Cas' waist, a hand cradling his head.  "Okay, here's the deal," he continues, voice a little deeper than normal, and it's a good thing Cas isn't required to speak because it's hard enough to concentrate on the furious beat his heart is slamming against his ribcage without trying to form coherent thought.  "I'm going to kiss you, unless you ask me not to."

Cas stares in disbelief.

"I've wanted to . . ."  Dean inches forward, licks a tortuous shine onto his lips, and when Cas' eyes track the movement, he leans in close enough to breathe the same air.  "Forever, it seems like."

"I don't deserve you," Cas whispers, and their noses are pressed together, and Cas' skin is much too hot, and he's a little dizzy with how badly he wants this.

"Cas."  Dean brushes his lips lightly against Cas', the briefest, gentlest sensation of pressure, and Castiel can't pretend he doesn't shiver.  "I don't deserve _you_."  And suddenly - or not suddenly at all, not really - Dean closes the last bit of distance between them, and surges forward, capturing Cas' mouth with his own.

Cas gasps.  He thinks he does, anyway, but it's swallowed entirely by Dean, by the slide of his lips, the flick of his tongue.  His hands act as though of their own accord when they grasp Dean's shoulders, and somehow pull him closer, and his very best friend, his favorite person in the whole world, is parting his lips, and pushing inside.  Dean's tongue maps out every corner and not even a heartbeat passes before Cas does the same, licking into Dean's own mouth with every ounce of frustration and disappointment he's experienced since the beginning.  But there's joy there too, and so much heat, and he tries so hard to show Dean what it means for a former angel of the Lord to _love._

Dean makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when he slowly pulls away.  "As much as I would love to see this take an NC-17 turn, there are still other people here," he says with a small smirk, but it doesn't stop him from pulling Cas close to kiss him again, firm and full of promise.  "And just so we're clear?"

Cas takes a deep breath in an attempt to clear his mind though the haze of delirious happiness.  "Yes, Dean?"

"You're not doing that with anyone else.  Okay?  Because I understand that you and Leo are B.F.F. now, or whatever, but we've spent too much time getting here for me to lose you to some guy just because he used to be an angel too.  Like that's some sort of achievement."

Cas laughs.  "You have my word," he says.  He pauses because he can't stop himself from pressing another soft kiss to Dean's temple.  "And I think it's only fair for you to do the same."

"Goes without saying," Dean answers instantly.  An impossibly nervous expression crosses his fair features.  "So we're really gonna do this, huh?"

"It seems as though we are.  I'd say five years was sufficient time for indecision."

Dean grins.  "Yeah, you're probably right.  So maybe we should solve this angel thing so I don't explode before we get to the really good part."

"I couldn't agree more."

 

They're not holding hands when they find the others, but Dean is pretty sure Cas' still-fairly swollen lips give a pretty detailed description of how the whole thing went.  Not to mention, of course, that Cas is walking around, breathing, which is a decent indicator all on its own.

Phoebe and Piper's smiles are so large Dean is half-convinced that they're going to try to hug him, or something else equally humiliating, so he's relieved when Sam, his amazing, fantastic, completely at ease brother says, "Paige just called.  She's finishing up with the future Whitelighter; she should be here any minute."

Dean nods.  "Good.  Because being an angel?  Sucks."  Then he glances quickly at Cas.  "Uh, no offense."

"None taken."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Billie lower her head, but not before he catches the sadness that's etched in tight line of her lips, the tension in her shoulders.  He feels a moment of guilt, because it's not really her fault that his little brother is so awesome, and, slowly an idea begins to form.  But he'll have to give it more consideration later because a soft white light fills the room, and then Paige is standing among them.

"So let's give this witch a call," she says cheerfully.  Then, when she glances over at Cas and sees the blood splattered across his shirt, she adds, "Did I miss the excitement already?"

Piper rolls her eyes, and passes her a small slip of paper with words in pen written across it.  "Phoebe wrote a Power of Three spell.  It should work, assuming this witch isn't on the other side of the world, or anything."

Paige scans the paper, then grins at her sister.  "Good thinking, using the original To Call a Lost Witch spell for inspiration."

"I just hope it works."  Dean's a little surprised when Phoebe draws near, a small, sharp knife grasped in her hands.  "Sorry, but I need a drop of your blood."

Dean sighs.  "Of fucking course."  He extends a hand, and watches silently as she pokes him with the knife, and squeezes his finger until a drop falls into the pot with the other assorted herbs for the spell.

Piper reaches out on either side of her, grasping a hand of each of her sisters, and Billie, Dean, Sam, and Cas step back, just a little, to give them some room as they begin to chant:

_"Powers of the witches rise,_  
Course unseen across the skies,  
Come to us who call you near,  
Come to us and settle here.  
Magic to magic we summon thee,  
Blood to magic, return to me."

It's a long moment before anything happens, but they wait, silent and watchful, until three small golden orbs appear and begin swirling in the air in front of the witches.  They spin and spin, increasing in speed with each split second, and, finally an outline of a female figure begins to appear, becoming more distinctive as the golden orbs lighten.  By the time they disappear, the witch that cast the spell on Dean is standing in front of the group.

Billie lets out a yelp of astonishment, and when Dean steals a look at the other three witches, their faces are mirror images of stunned disbelief.  Paige is the first to come to her senses, and she says loudly, "Crystals, circle!"  She gestures to their new arrival, and the woman watches, utterly at ease, as the bright white rocks surround her.

"Unbelievable," Billie whispers.  She's trembling from head to toe, her face has lost its color.  Tears form in the corners of her eyes, and Dean wishes he has some idea as to what is going on.  "You're dead."

The witch smiles, almost gently.  "Not quite."

"Why," Billie demands.  She steps as close as she can to the magical, invisible cage.  "Why in the hell would you do this?  You don't even know them!"

"Um, not to be rude," Dean finally intervenes.  "But do you two know each other?"

The bark of laughter that escapes the youngest witch is sharp with hysteria.  "Of course we know each other.  This is my dead sister, Christy."

 

Sam's eyes fly to Billie, convinced that his ears are playing tricks on him.  People popping back up from the dead, well that's always been a Winchester thing.  Sam, Dean, and Cas have all died far more than once, not to mention the time that Cas brought Bobby back, or Ghost Bobby hanging around in his afterlife.  Even John Winchester was resurrected once, thanks to a deal.  And, of course, Sam knows that they can't possibly be the only family with the impromptu and random resurrections, but it's still strange, to see Piper, Phoebe, Paige, and Billie staring at this girl who has, evidently, been dead for almost ten years.  "Your sister?"

"Yeah, you know," Billie says, her voice rising to a worrisome pitch.  "The one I had to kill so that she would stop trying to help the demons take over the world.  That sister."

Christy doesn't try to escape the circle, and, now that Sam is getting a good look at the girl, she doesn't seem angry.  On the contrary, her eyes are wide with what looks suspiciously like contrition.  "Billie, I can explain," she says, her voice beseeching.

Billie's gaze is cold, furious.  "Actually, you can't.  The only thing you _can_ do is turn this man back into a mortal."  When Christy doesn't answer, Billie's eyes narrow to slits.  "And don't you dare say you can't do it, because we all know you can."

"I can!"  Christy turns to Dean, who tries to disguise the intimidated step backwards he takes as shifting.  "I will, I swear it.  But please, just let me explain."  When no one speaks, she lets out a gust of frustrated huff.  "Look, I'm under the protection of an angel.  You couldn't bring me here against my will.  I wanted to come."

Sam, like basically everyone else in the kitchen, turns questioning eyes on Castiel.

"That true," Dean asks.

Cas studies Christy carefully for a long minute before he nods once.  "Yes.  Depending on the angel, but it's possible."

Billie still looks lost, so Sam acts on instinct,reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, and she leans into the touch, like they've been doing this a lot longer than three days. "Fine," Billie snaps, relenting.  "But Piper has my blessing to blow you up if you so much as look at any of these people the wrong way."

Christy's hands go up placatingly.  "Okay, I understand.  But there won't be any need."

"We'll be the judge of that."

A brief moment of silence until Christy clears her throat.  "So.  Okay, um.  After . . .  After everything happened with the Halliwells," she begins nervously, "I - Well, you know what happened.  I died.  And, surprise, surprise, I woke up in Hell.  And, I can't really say that I didn't have it coming.  Plotting to end the world and take down the three most powerful good witches of all time, not to mention my own sister, doesn't really scream Heaven-bound, you know?"  She takes a deep breath, releases it, and continues.  "Time in Hell moves differently.  I don't know if you know.  I mean, I was down there less than a decade, but it felt like . . ."  Her eyes lose their focus, and her face suddenly reminds Sam jarringly of Dean's in the weeks following his own rescue.  "It was more like 1200 years."

Dean lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows arch.  "Lady, if you hadn't just killed my best friend here, you'd have my sympathies."

"Uh.  Thanks.  Anyway, if you're down there long enough you make connections, and some time after year five hundred I earned a little bit of freedom.  For all my mistakes I was, after all, a witch that made a real attempt on the Charmed One's lives, and the, uh, demon, who was running Hell at the time-"

"Crowley?"

She glances at Sam.  "Yeah.  You know him?"

"We _did_."

"Well, anyway, he started giving me brief reprieves for good behavior.  Letting me run errands for him, that sort of thing.  And, Crowley - he was a little paranoid, I guess.  Kept having me peak at the Cage where Lucifer, Michael, and Adam were, to make sure they were still sealed up good and tight.  And they were.  I don't know how or when they ejected Michael from Adam's body, but by the time I started checking on them, they were three separate - well, not people, but entities.  Souls look different in Hell.  I don't know if I can explain it.  And eventually, well, Lucifer and Michael started talking to me.  And Adam."  She turns her eyes on Billie, leaves them trained on her sister's face.  "At first I didn't want to hear anything they had to say.  I had my own problems; I was trapped in Hell, and yeah, Crowley was letting me walk around more, torturing me less, but I was still in Hell."  Something flickers across her face, and Sam can see the sadness there.  "I couldn't fix things with you.  But Lucifer and Michael said they could get me out."

"Why," Sam can't help asking.  "No offense, but those guys don't really have a reputation for helping people out of the goodness of their own hearts."

Christy doesn't answer right away.  For several long beats the group silently watches her breathe, and then, finally, she grits her teeth and says, "They weren't offering out of the goodness of their own hearts.  They wanted something in return."

"Their own freedom," Piper guesses.  Every looks at her and she shrugs.  "What?  If you guys haven't noticed, destroying the world is practically in the Underworld bylaws.  And I may not really know anything about this Cage, but I'm assuming that's not the kind of thing you can accomplish if you're locked up."

Christy shoots her a tiny smile (though Piper pointedly turns away, evidently not ready to forgive and forget just yet).  "Right.  They asked for my help."

"And it didn't occur to you that helping to free Satan might not be a good idea," Billie asks, disbelief coloring her tone.  "You thought you'd come back and win me over after telling me you were on a mission from the Devil?  Are you kidding me?"

"Please, just let me finish.  Anyway, they said . . .  Well, a lot of things.  I'd have to gather all these different spells from all over the world, all different cultures and religions, and use my knowledge about magic to condense them all, and create a new spell to crack open the Cage.  But first they wanted me to distract the Winchesters.  And their angel."  Now she turns to Dean, and Sam supposes that it's possible she's faking, but to him she looks open and honest and filled with regret.  It's a feeling he knows well.  "They said we wouldn't have to kill anyone.  Infusing you with Grace may have looked pretty impressive, Dean, but it wouldn't have killed you - I was planning all along to remove it."

"And we're just supposed to take you at your word," Billie points out questioningly.  "Look what you did to Castiel!"

Christy doesn't answer, but digs into her pocket and withdraws a small, clear potion.  Then she tosses it to Dean.  "It's the antidote.  Would I be carrying it around if I was going to let him die?"

Dean holds the vial out for Piper, Phoebe, and Paige to examine.  Phoebe whispers a soft spell, and when nothing happens, she gives a short nod of approval.  "She's telling the truth about that, at least," she says.

"Don't take it yet," Sam hears Cas murmur to Dean.

Christy ignores them and barrels on.  "Anyway, I'd never met Sam or Dean or Castiel, so they sent Adam with me to give me some pointers."  She sighs.  "I know he killed you.  I'm sorry about that, more than you know.  And Adam is too.  It just got so out of hand. He made the mistake of telling them that Castiel wasn't an angel anymore, and, I don't know what you did to them, but those archangels were a little single-minded there for a while.  They started putting pressure on Adam to . . ."  She winces.  "You know, take you out, or whatever."

"Pressuring him how?"  Then Billie narrows her eyes, and lets out a moan of frustration that's so loud all the witches, Cas, and the Winchesters jump.  "Oh my God. Are you guys _dating_?"

" _What_ ," Dean snaps.  "Really?  This story is reaching new levels of soap opera."

"What's a soap opera?"

"Later, Cas."

Christy glares.  "It's not insane.  Adam and I actually have a lot in common.  We both have siblings that were virtual strangers to us, both of us had parents that were killed by evil.  We were both, you know, killed, ourselves.  We've both survived Hell."  She gives a half-hearted shrug.  "That's the kind of thing you bond over.  But, anyway, we've been talking, and we want to undo it.  We just want our lives back."  She swallows casting pleading eyes on the Charmed Ones.  "You guys offered to help me before. Sam, Dean, you wanted to help Adam.  This is us, officially asking."

"Where is Adam," Sam asks.  No one else seems to want to do any talking at this moment, so he might as well.  Honestly, since Dean and Cas are both still standing upright and there's been no permanent damage, a sincere apology would be sufficient for him.  As long as, obviously, he doesn't have to see the kid every day.

"I'm not sure.  Michael's been transporting him around but Paige should be able to just call for him."

Paige looks up at the sound of her name, and she studies Christy carefully before saying, "I think you need to give us a minute."

Christy nods and, aside from her, everyone files out of the kitchen and follows Paige into the Halliwell's living room.

"So, what do you think," Sam asks Billie.  He can't help but notice the trembling of her hands, so he takes one of them in his own.

"I don't know," she answers, weaving their fingers together.  His heartbeat increases at the additional contact.  "I want to believe her - she's my sister.  But my judgement hasn't always been the most sound, and what if this whole thing is a trap?"

"Yeah, I'm with her," Dean adds, throwing a surreptitious glance at Cas.  "Better safe than sorry."

Cas tilts his head and does his scary staring thing at Dean.  "You don't want to give Adam another chance?  That's a surprise."

"Dude, he killed you!"

"And yet here I remain.  I thought this was what you wanted."

"It was, but then he pointed a gun at the guy I'm with, and now I'm thinking that we should just cut our losses."

"You didn't cut your losses with me!"

"I had known you three years before that even became an issue!"

"So, the amount of time you've spent with Adam is a deciding factor in the value of his life?"

Piper whistles sharp and loud.

"Okay, is that really necessary," Dean mutters.

"Look," Piper says, "Billie, you know we'll support you no matter what you decide, so if you want us to bind her powers or something, we will. And Sam, Dean, if you guys want to throw Adam back into Hell, well, we'll figure out a way to do that too.  But guys.  I never thought I'd say this, but-"  And somehow she looks impossibly old and so wise, and Sam watches his brother's resistance crack.  "Christy, Adam.  They're your family.  And they may have screwed up, but I'm pretty sure none of us are perfect, here.  I mean, Phoebe, Paige, and I faked our own deaths so we could get out of witchcraft and if we hadn't changed our minds do you have any idea how many people would have died?  Just because we wanted to be selfish."

Sam faces Dean.  "Do you need me to start a list too?  We had the opportunity to close off Hell completely, and we didn't.  Just to save me."

"That was different."

"How?"

"Dean, I think you should listen to Sam and Piper," Cas says gently.  "If you don't, you will regret it.  You and Sam both deserve the chance to get to know your brother."

It strikes a cord, to hear it worded that way, and Sam's not too surprised to watch Dean take a deep breath and turn to Billie.

"What do you think," he asks her.  "You wanna let bygones be bygones?"

Billie exhales slowly, her eyes softening, and when she nods, it's with decisive determination.  This isn't easy for her, that's clear, but she's putting it behind her, and, Sam smiles at her, kinda proud.  "Yeah," she says, and her gaze slides to his.  "Cas is right.  I want to know my sister."

 

They stride back into the kitchen, new-found confidence and determination growing stronger with each step.  Christy looks up when they enter the room, takes one look at her sister, and sighs.  "You believe me," she says, awestruck.

Dean feels Castiel step a little closer to him, finds comfort in the shoulder pressed against his own.  "Unless you give us a reason not to."

Christy shakes her head imploringly.  "We won't."

"We're glad to hear you say that," Phoebe says, not unkindly.  But Christy doesn't meet her gaze, and Dean wonders at the history there, wonders if these two women butted heads more often than not when they knew each other before, but it's not his place to ask.  And, anyway, they have more important business to attend to.

"What's Adam's last name," Paige asks the room.

"Milligan."

Billie turns a steely gaze on the trapped witch.  "We're trusting you, here," she says heavily.  "And I really don't want to have to regret it.  I don't know if I could handle it a second time."

Christy's eyes fasten on Billie's.  "There won't be a second time."

From Dean's left Paige sighs, and extends her arms out in front of her, palms up.  "Adam Milligan," she calls, voice steady and firm.

For a moment Dean thinks nothing has happened, that his "brother" - if he's indeed going to be calling him that - is still being shielded by Lucifer or Michael, or whoeverthefuck.  But then the space in front of them lights up bright and within a heartbeat Adam has joined them, looking the very definition of terrified.  His eyes are saucers, and they find Christy as though by instinct.

"Are you alright," he asks her quietly, and she nods back, and Dean's reminded of basically every couple they've tried to save in their many years in the business.  "I was getting worried."

"I told you it would take time," she counters, though she doesn't lose the softness in her eyes as she regards him through lowered lashes.  "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah, ditto."  Adam turns to Dean and Sam, and straightens his back.  He throws a hasty look at Castiel. "Look, I understand if you guys wanna kill me.  I probably would, if I was in your position."

"Then it's a good thing you're not."  Sam offers a smile, as sincere as he can manage, and if it resembles a grimace more than anything else, well, no one ever said family reunions were all puppies and rainbows.  "Adam, we want to believe you.  And we want to help you, in any way we can."

Adam musters a small, hopeful grin of his own, and somehow sheds a layer of the attitude that's been so omnipresent since their first meeting, when they argued with the kid about the trustworthiness of the angels.  "I don't know what anyone can do, though," he admits.  "A few protective enchantments and Christy can walk free, but I'll always be tied to Michael."

"You boys could really stand to have a little bit of faith," Piper says with a slight roll of her eyes.  "I don't know if you've heard, but my sisters and I are pretty powerful.  I'm feeling confident we can work something out."  She murmurs something to Paige, who immediately dashes up the staircase with a smug look on her face, as Christy clears her throat.

"Not to be impatient, but do you think you could let me out of here?  The crystals are giving me a headache."

Dean raises his eyebrows at Billie, who nods her approval.  Then he carefully kicks one of the glowing stones until it rolls to the side and the makeshift cage falls away around her.

"Thank you, Dean," she says stiffly.  She carefully steps out of the broken circle, everyone's eyes following her movements with varying degrees of mistrust.  She ignores all of them in favor of drawing to Adam's side, and wrapping one arm around his waist.  "You heard Piper," she soothes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  "We'll figure something out."

"You should just let them send me back," he tells her quietly.

"Adam, we have had this discussion, and you promised. You promised you'd try.  We just need to have a little faith."

Dean sighs and turns to Piper.  "So, do you have a plan?"

"I do."

"Wanna share with the class?"

"Well, I think the only way to get Adam here out of his deal is to talk to the angel he made it with," she says with a relaxed smile, that doesn't really match the severity of the idea.

"You want to summon Michael and Lucifer," Cas says, and Dean's relieved to hear some trepidation _there_ at least.  He likes Piper - best of the witches, maybe - but he's not sure he's real thrilled with a plan that sounds like a suicide mission.  And he's already had to watch Cas die.

Piper opens her mouth to answer, but Paige's loud shoes banging back down the stairs interrupt her reply.

"Got it," Paige says, waving a page cheerfully through the air.  Then she sends a slight glare at Dean.  "See?  You were being a snob about the Abraxas spell, but it's the one that's going to save the day."

"Is that right?"

Phoebe raises her eyebrows at Piper.  "You wanna use it to call Lucifer and Michael?"

"Well, yeah.  I figure, that way we can talk to them without having to actually be within "killing us all" distance."

"It's a good plan."

"Debatable, at best," is Dean's mutinous reply.

"Okay," Piper addresses the group, "this is what we're going to do."


	8. Chapter 8

Despite his original misgivings, it's a good plan, Cas decides.

There's some argument, of course.  Dean wants Sam and Cas to hide in another room, Sam and Cas think _he's_ the one who should be hiding, and Adam tries to convince Christy that his freedom isn't worth the possibility of angering Satan. Piper, Phoebe, and Paige watch from the side lines until Phoebe explodes a little bit, snapping that the tension is interfering with her ability to focus, and everyone is forced to lapse into silence while the Charmed One's take each others' hands.  Piper's the one who actually says the spell they've reworded to reach Lucifer's cage, and it's impressive, even to Castiel, to see no traces of fear on the women's faces.  He hopes Prue is watching.

The sigil Billie drew on the side wall just minutes before begins to glow, a deep indigo lighting the inside like fire, and Cas instinctively grasps Dean's hand in his own.  He smiles when he feels the gentle squeeze in return.

It feels like an eternity before the outlines of two shapes become discernible among the the light, and as they become more defined Cas can't help a small curdle of fear.  This will work, he believes it with absolute certainty, but that doesn't mean that he's relishing the idea of facing his two estranged brothers in the confines of the Halliwell's kitchen.  Especially considering their long-standing grudge against his two closest friends.

He wonders what to expect, what form they will take, because regardless of the amount of magic that reverberates through the room, the witches are still mortals, with eyes and ears no different than anyone else.  There will be no true-form angels here.

Then, slowly, the fuzzy lines straighten and clear, and Castiel shouldn't be surprised, not really, not when he's known Lucifer and Michael quite literally forever, but he still clamps his mouth shut in horror when Sam and Dean's familiar faces stare back at them from the wall.

"What the _fuck_?"

"Dean," greets Michael.  His voice is steady, even, but he hasn't been impersonating Dean long enough to hide the uncertainty reflecting in the striking green eyes.  It's a painful sight, and he remembers a time when he and Sam fought against this with every single fiber of their beings: Michael's words in Dean's voice.  "You're looking . . . confrontational."

Dean - the real one, Cas and Sam's Dean - glares back with ferocity.  "Well I get that way when dickhead angels mess with my family from what was supposed to be an airtight cage locked in Hell."

"There's always a loophole," answers Lucifer, in Sam's voice.  "You should know that better than most."

"Speaking of loopholes," Piper intervenes, stepping forward and releasing her sisters' hands, "we didn't call you up just to chat."  Cas feels a spark of pride at the ease with which Piper and the others are taking Lucifer and Michael's unexpected visage.

Both archangels turn at the same time to regard the witch.

"We have no interest or inclination to aid any of you with anything.  Especially considering the way things went with our last partnerships."  Lucifer sends a lazy frown at Christy and Adam, that's somehow still so frightening.

Piper rolls her eyes.  "Look, I'm cutting to the chase.  Let Adam here go or we'll be forced to vanquish you both."

Neither Lucifer nor Michael look particularly impressed, but they've never seen the Charmed Ones in action and don't really understand who exactly they are facing, so Castiel cannot be completely surprised when Michael shakes his head.  "Contained though we may be, we're still angels.  Mere witches cannot bring harm to a heavenly being."  The alien eyes move to Cas.  "I would have thought my brother would know better."

"They can do it," Cas says, and he hears the note of pity that seeps in.  He never wanted it to come to this.  Certainly with Lucifer he had thought there was no choice, and he'd accepted it with time, but Michael-

"Let Adam go," Phoebe echoes firmly.  "We don't want to vanquish angels, but we will if we have to."  Then, suddenly, her eyes sharpen and go to Michael.  "I mean, _you're_ supposed to be one of the good guys!"

"My Father's will-"

"Your Father's _will_ ," Paige repeats in disbelief.  "You seriously think God wants to see innocent kids indebted to angels?  That He wants to watch Adam suffering in Hell?  What is _wrong_ with you guys?"

Sam sighs.  "They've always been hard-headed."

"One last chance."  Piper steps back, takes her sisters hands once more.  "Going once, going twice."

Lucifer rolls Sam's eyes but otherwise the angels make no move, and when Cas looks over at Piper, Phoebe and Paige, all three look saddened but determined.

Piper's words are first: _"Prudence, Penelope, Patricia, Melinda."_

Then Phoebes: _"Astrid, Helena, Laura, and Grace."_

And finally Paige: _"Halliwell witches stand strong beside us."_

The bright, white light that emits from the sigil's outline should feel like a victory, but there's no joy in his heart when he yells out his warning.  "Now!  Close your eyes!"

And then finally the three women say together, _"Vanquish these angels from time and space."_

There's the earth-shattering explosion he's come to know too well, and they're all thrown back, Cas colliding into the far cabinet, Dean into the door to the basement.  Then utter silence falls, and Cas carefully opens his eyes.

"I don't believe it," Sam says, gingerly pulling himself back to his feet.  He prods his arm where was slammed into kitchen island, and Cas winces in sympathy.  "It worked."

Simultaneously, they all rise, and turn to stare at the wall.  Where the two angels stood there is now a small, dissipating smoke rising from the chalk outline of the triquetra; the wallpaper lies smooth and unblemished, as if nothing happened in the space at all.

"Adam, the mark," Cas immediately prompts.

Adam blinks, and, swallowing hard, pulls at the bottom of his tee shirt until his stomach is fully exposed.  He peers down -  they all do - and the barking laughter of his relief wipes all the tension from the room.  Michael's handprint where he had laid claim to Adam's soul is gone, a memory,

And Lucifer and Michael are dead.  Cas shakes his head, then bows it in prayer.

When he raises his eyes, Billie is taking a breath, and approaching her sister.  They don't touch, but the smile that graces her face speaks volumes of forgiveness and it reaches her eyes.  "So, that's it.  You're back."

Christy gives a smile in return  "I guess so."

 

Cas is aware of the time passing, but notices that no one seems eager to bring this case to a close.  Lucifer and Michael are dead - he hopes his Father can understand, tells himself He does - and Dean will become mortal once he takes the potion, so there's really no reason for them to stay, but Piper insists that they can't leave on an empty stomach.

So they eat turkey sandwiches around the dining room table, and the conversation is easy, unhurried  Once the plates are cleared, Billie abruptly says she has to run an errand, and practically bolts out the front door, telling them not to leave until she returns.  Bizarrely, Christy and Adam offer to accompany her, and Cas glances quizzically at Dean, who stares back, wide-eyed and innocent.

Uh _huh_.

But whatever it is, his friend isn't telling, so instead Cas focuses his thoughts on the clear potion that he knows is residing in Dean's pocket.  He has plans for it, but they require more privacy than this dining room allows.

Phoebe, somewhat disturbingly, comes to his rescue.  "Piper, Paige, and I should go to the store," she says, and, yes, her eyes flicker surreptitiously to Sam.  "Pick up a couple of protection charms for Christy and Adam, just in case."

Predictably, Sam's head shoots up, interest piqued, and he says, "Mind if I come along?"

"Of course not," Phoebe assures him, as they get to their feet.  "Dean, Cas, would you guys mind sticking around here, in case Leo and the kids get back here before we do?  Fill them in?"

"Sure," Dean replies, a little too easily, and Cas has no idea if they're on the same wavelength, but he doubts it.

As the front door closes behind Sam and the witches, Dean answers that question by jumping to his feet, yanking Cas to his, and pulling him into a long, impatient kiss.

"Ive been wanting to be alone with you all day," Dean breathes huskily against his mouth, and arousal kicks in like a Pavlovian response, pooling in his stomach, sending spikes of pleasure down his spine.

He groans and latches his lips to Dean's throat, enjoying the soft gasp of surprise, the way Dean's breath catches.  His fingers slip up Dean's shirt, dance along the waistband of his jeans, and it's so warm, he's so warm, that it is with great effort that he jerks back, just a little.  Enough to force out, "Dean!"

" _Cas_ ," Dean murmurs back, his lips ghosting across Cas' jaw, cheek, temple, eyes, forehead.  "God, I want you."

It feels _so good_.  But there's only so much time.  "Dean, no," he says shakily.

It must finally sink in, because Dean finally steps back, trembling, his pupils blow wide.  "Are you okay?"  And there's real concern there too, like, _Uh, have you lost your mind?_

Cas laughs breathlessly.  "Yes.  But I want to see your wings."

 

Dean blinks, tries to think through the fog of desire that still hangs around him like a heavy, hot, uncomfortable blanket.  Cas said . . .  "What?"

"I want to see your wings."

 _Mother of -_ " _Now_ ," he asks, disappointment settling in when he registers the unwavering set to Cas' shoulders.

"Please, Dean," Cas says, and when he lowers his eyes, all bashful and embarrassed, Dean knows the battle's lost.

"Fine."  He tries not to pout, drawing away completely and fighting to ignore the way his fingers itch to return to Cas' skin.  "How would that work, exactly?  You're human now."

The radiant beaming he gets for his trouble almost makes it worth it.  "I believe, if you drink the potion slowly enough, it should dim your Grace enough for me to see them without harm."

Dean has no real opinion on this, so when Cas takes his hand and leads him into the downstairs bathroom, he simply follows behind dutifully, without complaint.

They step into the small room, and Cas flips off the light switch, then slowly closes the door behind them and crosses to the far wall to make room.  There's a sliver of light that crawls in under the door, providing enough illumination for Dean to see the general outline of Cas' body and this is . . . a little dangerous, he decides, as the image of crowding Cas against the wall, pressing flush against him, dances into his thoughts.  "Now what," he says, his voice barely a whisper.

He's not sure if it's the angel mojo in him or not, but he can feel the race of Cas' heartbeat from where he's standing.  "Take out the vial," Cas answers, and damn if his voice doesn't come out gravelly enough to go straight to Dean's groin.  "Take a drink."

Dean inhales and tries not to think too carefully about what he's doing - namely, ripping his soul apart.  There's a moment where he feels nothing, no change at all, and then a beat later it's hitting him full force, his skin going from boiling hot to ice cold within the span of seconds.  When it passes, he looks down at himself in confusion.  "Okay, that was weird."

"Take another," Cas instructs and there's no denying the guy is getting antsy.  Which really isn't fair since Dean never got to see _Cas'_ wings, but whatever.  He thinks he understands.

He tips the potion down his throat again, and the temperature fluctuation returns, though it's less dramatic a difference this time, and Dean can't help but think that if this is the worst he's going to experience by getting rid of his Grace, well, he's getting off fucking lucky.  He holds up the potion for Cas to inspect.  It's half-gone.

Cas leans forward to kiss him firmly on the lips ( _God dammit, Cas_ ) before nodding encouragingly.  "Okay.  Try it now."

Dean takes a deep breath, shifts his shoulders, feeling a reactive movement just below his shoulder blades.  There's that sound, displaced air, and he can't stop himself from watching them extend, spreading into the room, past it in their inconceivable, incorporeal form.  He smirks, smug, at the glittering gold, then looks to Cas.

Cas, who looks positively _wrecked_.

He's staring at the wings, and there's no mistaking the _want_ that's reflected there like a neon sign.  He's completely silent as his eyes drink them in, sliding from one side to the other, and he swallows thickly.  " _Dean_."

"Touch them," Dean blurts out, because he just can't help himself.  He licks his lips, another involuntary action.

"Okay," Cas mouths, no sound coming out, but who even cares?  "Okay.  Yes."  He steps forward, reaching out, and when he brushes the feathers (sort of feathers, sort of smoke, sort of air, sort of rain) with his fingertips, a sharp jolt arches Dean up like a cat.

"Fuck," he gasps.  His hands go to Cas' shoulders, digging into his skin and confining him to the spot.  "Cas, do that again."

And dammit, Jesus, he _does_ , and Dean's groaning, getting impossibly hard, as Cas' long, slender fingers card experimentally through the feathers, his grasp, his expression, one of defiant possession.  Dean growls, and crashes their lips together again, and Cas pushes him back against the sink, pushes him until he's sitting on the counter, legs wrapped around Cas' waist, and it feels just so good that he chokes back a moan.  Dean's a little numb, but his fingers do fall forward to cup Cas through his pants.

"Dean," Cas whispers.  His eyes squeeze closed as Dean reaches for the zipper.  "Dean, _please_."

"Yeah.  Yeah, Cas."  And then there's a flurry of limbs because neither one can get the others' clothes off fast enough.

Cas' mouth is _everywhere_.  On his chest, sucking and licking against his right nipple until Dean is gasping, sweating into the hollow of his throat.  Against his sternum, biting red marks into the tender flesh, then mouthing them in apology.  Then lower, _lower_ , and his hands are still caressing Dean's wings, and his tongue sweeps against the head of Dean's cock, and Dean can't do anything but tremble and grasp uselessly at Cas' dark hair.

"I love you," Dean gasps, the words torn out of him as he feels precome pulse into Castiel's mouth.

Cas stills and stares up at him, his face flushed, pupils blown wide, dark pink lips wrapped around Dean's cock and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, so he says it again.

"I love you."

And Cas makes this sound, this crazy, broken, destroyed sound, and shakes his head a little, as though in disbelief, and he's jerking back up to rip another agonizing kiss from Dean.  His hand replaces where his mouth had been laying claim, and begins furiously jacking him off, and Dean wraps his hand around Cas' dick because he can't not match it.

"Dean," Cas groans.

"I love you," Dean says again, practically purring under Cas' ministrations, allowing himself a smirk when Cas bites angrily at his throat.

"You irritating, self-satisfied-"

"I love you, Castiel."

And it could be the full name, the fourth time being the charm, or whatever but then Cas comes with a cry, and it's so beautiful that Dean follows, burying his head into Cas' shoulder and repeating the words like a prayer: _I love you.  I love you.  I love you._

 

Sam comes back with Piper, Phoebe, and Paige, and they're out of reasons to stick around.  Sam tells himself that he's not disappointed - that he's too disillusioned with hunting to have built up some happily ever after fantasy with Billie - but when Christy and Adam return to say their goodbyes without her, he's pretty sure he wilts visibly.

"Sammy, you okay," Dean asks him as they walk out to the Impala, his head tilted to the side in a passable impression of Castiel.  His brother has been more touchy-feely with Cas since Sam returned from town, and he's been trying hard to not realize what that most likely means about the virtue of their friendly, neighborhood, former-angel.

"Fine," Sam answers.  The raised eyebrow Dean shoots him has a twinge of irony coated onto it, and Sam blinks.  "What?"

Dean shrugs back.  "Nothing."

"Can't someone put this kid out of his misery," Phoebe suddenly says from his left, and it's only then that Sam looks up to see everyone watching him closely.

_"What?"_

Cas glances at Sam, then turns to Dean.  "I believe it is time for the jig to be up," he says, grinning affectionately.  "Though you were correct.  There is a certain amount of amusement to be found in knowing something your brother does not."

"Okay, seriously."  Sam appeals to Leo, who holds his hands up innocently.  "What is going on?"

And just as Dean sighs heavily and opens his mouth to respond, the sound of squealing tires cuts through the air, and Sam's eyes go to the street in search of the source.  It's a small, lime green Volkswagen Beetle, and when Billie jumps out of the driver's side with a cheerful wave, he takes an unwitting step towards her.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, but her eyes are trained on Dean, which makes no sense at all.

Dean ignores her apology in favor of an appalled, " _That's_ how you treat your car?"

"It's mine," Paige mutters, and as Dean gives her a frown of sympathy, Sam watches Billie open the passenger door, and pull a large, bright yellow suitcase from the seat.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Sam dimly registers Dean complain.

"Hey, you just said no pink.  You said nothing about marigold-"

" _Marigold_?"

"Or any other colors, and frankly you should consider yourself lucky, because it was between this or Easter-egg purple."

"Can someone," Sam interrupts flatly, "please fill me in."

Billie laughs a little nervously, the light reflecting off her eyes, and she lays one hand on Sam's arm, the other clasping the handles of her bag.  "Right, sorry."  She takes a steadying breath, then meets his gaze determinedly.  "I'm coming with you."

"You're . . . coming?"

"If it's okay, of course," she rushes to add.  "I, uh, talked to Dean after everything with Lucifer and Michael, and he said it would be fine."

Sam's brain tries to keep up with what she's saying, but it's like listening to her speak in another language because it's not making any sense.  They only just met, she just got her sister back, and she's saying that she wants to spend the foreseeable future with Dean, Cas, and Sam, alternating between an enclosed car that was built almost fifty years ago, and the Batcave?  Billie, who is so beautiful, and kind, and funny, and understanding, and who can do so much better than the life she's suggesting.

"Billie," he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Look, Sam.  If this isn't what you want, then it's fine.  No hard feelings, you guys can still come around and visit, or whatever, for Christmas.  I know Dean's dying to try Piper's broccoli casserole.  But I kinda thought it was."  She smiles at him softly, takes his hand in her own.  "We're the same, you and I, and I really believe this could work."

He stares down at her and it hits him so hard that it nearly knocks him breathless.  Billie - she's everything he could have asked for, everything he could have wanted.  He thought someone with so much light would be out of his reach, a distant wish, but somehow she's been plagued with the darkness that's trademark in the business and retained her ability to take it all with a grain of salt.  And, even more incredibly, she has a strength in her that tells him that maybe she could handle all of it, be a real, honest-to-God partner in every way, and he's pulling her into a long kiss before he can second guess himself.   The clapping and various wolf-whistles that erupt around them are only a little embarrassing.

When they finally break apart, everyone begins a round of goodbyes.  Dean hugs Paige, Phoebe, and Leo in turn, thanking them for everything, then he hugs Piper a beat longer, and Sam hears the soft, "You take care of him," Piper whispers into Dean's ear.  Dean, for his part, gives her a solemn nod, and moves on to clasp hands genially with Adam.

Sam hugs everyone tightly, and finds that he's saddest to say goodbye to Phoebe, who grins, then, sensing his trepidation, encourages him, "Ask."

"You have premonitions," he says immediately.  "See anything in our future?"

She shits her eyes, watches some invisible scene play out, then blinks, and meets his gaze.  "I see Christmas Day," she answers, smiling.  "You'll all be here.  You'll be an hour late because Dean and Castiel won't want to leave without christening the bedroom they'll finally have admitted they're sharing but you won't even be mad because you'll be too wrapped in the Christmas present you chose for Billie, and whether or not she'll be pleased.  A hint: she will be."

Sam flushes, because that's not really subtle at all, but Billie doesn't seem to be paying attention, saying her own goodbye to her sister, making her swear that she'll be at the Halliwell's for the holiday, with Adam in tow.  Christy rolls her eyes, but agrees without argument.

"I will miss you," Cas is telling Piper, as Dean carries Billie's suitcase to the trunk, and Sam bids goodbye to Adam.  "I have enjoyed seeing you."

"You too," Piper replies, sadness flickering quickly across her features.  "But you guys will be back for Christmas, apparently.  And you can always give a shout to Paige, if you get into trouble.  She talked to the Elders, and got herself assigned as Billie's official Whitelighter."

"We will keep that in mind," he says, hugging her.  Then, when he draws back, he suddenly adds, "I fell in love.  You asked me what happened to me - Dean did."

And with that, Dean, Cas, Sam, and Billie climb into the impala, and Dean sets out for Arizona, after a follow-up call to Diane Johnson reveals that she's still having an issue with the supposed ghost in her basement.  And if Sam can't resist pulling a book from his bag to show Billie (who does "ooo" and "ahh" in all the right places, he's relieved to note), and Dean shares a secretive, intimate smile with Cas, well, no one mentions it.

 

Phoebe's right.  Six months later they're an hour late for Christmas dinner, and by the time they arrive, they're so hungry that Dean practically trips over himself in his haste to get to the kitchen to help get the food to the table.  Piper laughs and even allows him a fork-full of pecan pie to taste before dinner.

They're all there, with some additions:  Paige has her husband, Henry, and their three children with her, and Phoebe brought her own husband, Coop ("What's 'Coop' short for," Dean asked, and, _boy,_ he had not liked the answer, even when Coop tried to assure him, "Look, I've never been assigned to you, or your partners, or Castiel."), and their three daughters.  Piper's family they've all met, but they have to be introduced to Wyatt's new friend, Jake, who has no qualms about telling anyone that asks, "Yeah, I was pretty mean to Wyatt when we first met.  I deserved to be hit."  ("Man, stop, I'm sorry, I feel bad, can't we please forget it?"  "Wyatt, I'm telling the truth.  It was rude of me to go through your bag, and ruder, still, to read the unsent love letters you had written to me without your permission.  Though I am, of course, glad I did.") and when Piper shoots Dean a look that's heavy with significance, he decides to pull Wyatt aside later.  Just because he's a good guy like that.

Christy and Adam, to everyone's surprise, are still together, and have somehow managed to stay completely out of trouble, renting an apartment together in downtown San Francisco, and they talk about getting a dog.  Billie promises to visit, and when Sam proposes to her under the Christmas tree lights, she cries and asks her sister to be her maid of honor.

Castiel settles back into the cushions of the couch, and leans into Dean when he joins him.  "You okay," Dean asks, studying his expression closely.

"Yes," he says, because he is.  He's found that sleeping in the bed with Dean keeps the nightmares at bay better than anything else.  "I love you."

Dean rolls his eyes, but pulls a concealed mistletoe from his jacket pocket.  "I love you too.  Now kiss me."


End file.
